


What's in the Woods

by friends2lovers



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Animal Death, At first ;), Bad Puns, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Break Up, Caught in Storm, Communication during sex, Conspiracy Theories, Dancing, Disaster gay Shiro, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Implied Hance, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Inaccurate depictions of National Parks, Intercrural Sex, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Massage, Masturbation, Mystery, POV Shiro (Voltron), POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Parent Death, Picnics, Pidge is too, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Safer Sex, Science Fiction, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Shiro wants to be friends and Keith does not, Situational pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Smut, Sparring, Stargazing, Swimming, This started out as a Firewatch au then completely devolved into something else, Touch-Starved, Trouble In Paradise, boys talking about their feelings, guys it's canon can you believe?, hunk is smart, random wildlife trivia, whatever ending you think this has ... it's probably not that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 125,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friends2lovers/pseuds/friends2lovers
Summary: After Shiro’s well-meaning, but pushy brother tells him to ‘get out more’ he does just that, taking a summer job as a Fire Lookout in Balmera National Park.However, his plans for a relaxing summer are derailed when he meets a mysterious young man with authority issues and a penchant for breaking and entering.As their unlikely friendship blooms into something more, strange things start happening, and Shiro begins to wonder just who he can trust.





	1. Departure and Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing this almost a year ago for shits-and-giggles, I never dreamed of posting it. But after being inspired my all the amazing writers and artists who love Sheith as much as I do, I decided to give it a shot. That being said, this is my first foray into posting my work so I'd love to hear any feedback ya'll might have! (❁´▽`❁) Also this is a (mostly) finished work so I'm hoping to update fairly regularly. Enjoy!

_This is a good idea._

_Everyone keeps telling me I need to get out more._

_This is a good idea._

_Isn’t it?_

The sharp ding of the elevator pierces Shiro’s thoughts, and his eyes snap open with surprise.

With a sharp exhale, he adjusts his backpack higher on his shoulder and makes his way to his old beat up truck. His footsteps echo through the nearly empty apartment garage. The pungent scent of gasoline assaults his nose as he haphazardly tosses the pack onto the seat next to him before sliding in. The vehicle shudders to life, the engine emitting a low purr as he pulls out of the garage.

_Besides…_

_I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to._

_I already promised to write the article._

He really can’t afford to push his luck. Not after all the concessions his boss has made for him already, namely being allowed to work from home. Fortunately, his editor, an older gentleman with slicked, silver hair and an unsettling, near constant smile, had accepted Shiro’s most recent proposal with his usual unnerving placidity. _‘It sounds quiet charming,’_ he’d said, slim glasses glinting under the fluorescent office lights. He then went into his usual schpeal about how people’s dependence on technology has turned society into mindless zombies – ripe for manipulation by the media. Shiro tuned him out after that.

Shiro sighs, taking a moment to observe his surroundings whizzing by in a blur as he escapes the congested confines of the city. Beside him, apartments and sidewalks are slowly replaced by trees and open fields.

_That’s right._

_I just need a change of pace._

_That’s all._

Leaning back, he forces himself to relax and loosen his death grip on the steering wheel.

_Plus …_

_the fresh air will be good for me._  

\--------------------

Shiro takes a deep breath before opening his eyes to stare at the dingy motel ceiling. The pulsing light of the neon vacancy sign filters through the blinds, exacerbating the throbbing pressure behind his eyes. As he rolls onto his side, away from the nauseating light. The bed creaks loudly, and he tries not to think about all the people who have had sex or died on it.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and scrolls through some of his brother’s messages from a few weeks ago. 

**Ryou**

**are you serious [5:42 PM]**

_Yes [5:42]_

**what the hell??? [5:43 PM]**

**when I said you need a change of scenery I meant go to a bar or something [5:43 PM]**

**not run into the woods to live like a hermit [5:43 PM]**

Shiro eyes narrow as his thumb drags along the smooth surface, leading him to his brother’s more recent nagging.

**Ryou**

**mom and dad are hassling me again [3:18 PM]  
  
** **somehow they think it’s MY job to talk you out of this [3:27 PM]**

**like [3:27 PM]**

**you’re a grown man [3:27 PM]**

**if you want to make bad decisions that’s your problem [3:27 PM]**  
  
you know [3:46 PM]

**if they keep bugging me about this I might just join you lol [3:46 PM]**  

Shiro scrolls down further. 

**Ryou**

**I can drive you [4:40 PM]**

_I’ll manage [4:52 PM]_

 And further.                                                                                 

**Ryou**

**I’ll miss you [5:54 AM]**

Shiro rolls onto his back and throws his arm over his face, cellphone slipping from his fingers. He still hasn’t responded. How _should_ he respond? 

_Thanks?_

_I’ll miss you too?_

_Y_ _ou’re better off without me in your life?_

Nothing seems quite right.

With a groan he scrubs his hand down his face and resumes staring at the ceiling. His eyes dart from one water stain to the next.

What happened to him? He used to be so good with stuff like this, always had the right words at the right time. But now…

_I should probably say something before I head off to the middle of nowhere for 3 months._

He rolls onto his side, tossing his phone onto the nightstand before tugging at the sheets.

_I’ll do it in the morning._

He doesn’t.

Instead, he arrives at Balmera National Park early in the morning and makes his way into the park’s office as instructed. As he opens the door, a soft bell chimes, alerting the staff. If there are any that is. The place seems deserted. Shiro considers calling out, when he’s startled by a chipper, mustachioed gentleman popping up from behind the counter.

“Good morning! I’m Coran, and you must be Shiro,” the man says cheerfully, extending his arm.

“Yes, I am.” Shiro shifts his pack and offers his own hand, albeit hesitantly.

He’s always hated shaking hands with his prosthetic – the staring and the awkward way people would vigorously pump it in an effort to disguise their own discomfort. 

However, Coran simply smiles, giving the appendage a firm grip with one hand and two gentle pats with the other. Shiro returns the smile with mild relief.

“Now, I’m assuming you have all the supplies we discussed on the phone?” 

Shiro nods. 

“Excellent!” The man claps his hands together and ducks behind the counter.

Shiro peers over curiously, nearly getting head-butted when Coran quickly pops back up.

“Here you are.” Coran plops a small, neatly folded stack of clothing in Shiro’s hands. “You can put this on in there,” he says, thumbing towards the unisex restroom on his left.

Once inside, Shiro assesses the uniform in closer detail. The outfit is just like the one Coran wears, consisting of a tan, short sleeved, collared shirt with a green Forest Service patch on the arm, and a pair of matching shorts. The only difference is that his lacks the V shaped emblem pinned to Coran’s lapel.

_Must be something you earn after several years of service._

Shiro turns toward the mirror, straightening the clothing over his considerable frame. His mother always said he looked good in a uniform.

He frowns.

_If you can overlook all the scars that is._

Taking a deep breath, Shiro squares his shoulders as he exits the bathroom. His father once told him that when it came to confidence you have to _‘fake it till you make it’_. And boy is he ever.

Coran beams as Shiro approaches him. “A perfect fit! Now it just needs the finishing touch.”

He turns to one of the mannequins, plucking an old campaign hat off its head and placing it on Shiro’s with a gentle pat.

“ _Now_ you’re ready to get out there and look for fires!”

Coran easily vaults over the counter, guiding a surprised Shiro out of building and down to the trail head.

“Wait, is that it?” Shiro asks, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Coran responds cheerfully.

“No lookout 101?”

“Everything will be explained to you once you arrive at your tower,” Coran assures him, handing Shiro an open map. “Now, if you follow this route,” he begins, indicating on map, “it’s just a short two day hike to the tower.”

Shiro frowns. “They didn’t mention that in the ad.”

“They never do my boy,” Coran says, patting Shiro’s shoulder amicably.

“Well, you better get a move on,” the older man continues, “I’m sure you want to be up in your tower as soon as possible, no?”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Oh no, I man the front desk.” Coran gestures back toward the building they emerged from. “But don’t worry!” He gives Shiro’s back a friendly slap. “Just stick to the trail and you’ll be fine!”

“Alright, thanks,” Shiro nods, adjusting his backpack before heading down the well-worn trail.

It’s a pleasant walk. All around him are chirping birds and the wind rustles through the dewy, green leaves. Tilting his head back, Shiro stares at the almost too blue sky, dotted with the occasional puffy, white cloud and bird streaking past. He takes deep breath of the cool, crisp air and sighs.

_Yes._

_This is exactly what I need._

_Not some stuffy doctor’s office._

_Not some crowded bar._

_Just … this.  
_

By early evening the mountains are silhouetted with a rusty golden glow and a few twilight stars flicker in the darkening expanse above. Shiro lifts his arm, shielding his eyes as he watches the sun begin to dip behind the twin peaks in the distance.

Soon, night is upon him, and he stops his trek to set up camp. A moth circles his lantern, futilely tapping at the protective plastic encasing the glowing bulb. Shiro gently shoos it away. The sky is cloudless, giving him a clear view of the stars that twinkle like diamonds in a coal mine. _  
_

“Wow,” he murmurs, in awe of the beauty before him. “We don’t have views like this in the city.”

The only sounds, other than his reflective musings, are the soft chirps of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze coasts through. Shiro sighs happily as his bangs sway with the wind. The sleeping bag rustles nosily when he slips inside. His nose wrinkles as a blade of grass tickles his face and a rock juts against his hip. With a grunt, he turns over to find a more comfortable position to no avail. He sighs.

_No._

_Stay Positive._

_By tomorrow evening I’ll be in a bed in my tower._

_I can do this._

_This was a good idea._  

_\--------------------_  

After another day of tranquil, but uneventful travel, Shiro finally nears the end of his hike.

His feet ache and his thighs burn with exertion. It reminds him of those long, agonizing marches from basic training. A wry, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. It’s not all bad though. The moon is bright enough to illuminate his path, and the soothing sound of cricket’s chirps and whistling wind keep him company.

Through the trees, he can make out the cabin of his tower, which is strikingly silhouetted by the moon. Eager to get off his feet, Shiro quickens his pace.

Once he finally reaches the open, grassy area that surrounds the tower, his face twists into a grimace. His head tilts back as he stares up at the cabin, which is situated three stories high. The first few steps are illuminated by a spotlight that hangs from the corner of the deck, beckoning Shiro to finish the last leg of his journey. With a groan, he begins to slowly plod up the winding stairs, nearly tripping on the loose boards strewn about the base. The climb is only made bearable with assurances of almost there, almost there.

As Shiro reaches the deck, the wind whistles faintly around him. Mountainous clouds hug the horizon, blotting out the lowest stars, but parting just enough frame the moon, allowing its soft glow to the blanket the ground below.

The door is thankfully unlocked, and Shiro lets it swing open. It rattles when it hits the wall. Once inside, he drops his pack on floor and leans on the doorframe with a loud sigh. When he flips the light switch to his left, the bulb flickers for a moment before the room brightens and he takes a minute to absorb his surroundings.

Several feet in front of him are a surprisingly ornate but faded oriental rug, and a makeshift bedside table consisting of a plank of wood and cinderblocks next to a queen-size bed. Neatly folded on the bed are a pillow, pillowcase, sheets and blankets. Continuing left, against the wall, is a set of drawers, on top of which is a small bookshelf containing three books.

_It’s nice to know I’ll have something to do if this job turns out to be too mind-numbingly boring._  
  
Catty-corner to the drawers is a long, pale green counter with a sink, and chipped, white lower cupboards. Beside the counter is tiny combination stove-oven. Above all of this, is a long single shelf cluttered with a few bowls, a cooking pot and a skillet. Next to the oven are a potbellied wood stove, a fire extinguisher, a few logs, and an old fraying broom tucked away in the corner.

Directly to his left is a rustic wooden chair and desk. Several boxes are stacked haphazardly on top of, and around it, all simply labeled ‘supplies’. Above the large windows that line every wall is photography of wildlife, state post cards, park ads, and a few varsity flags from local universities. Lastly, smack dab in middle of the room, is a small table with round map on it.

Shiro pushes off the doorframe and is about to inspect the map when he hears a voice.

“Hello!”

He quickly looks around the room and hesitantly replies, “… Hello?”

“Hellooooo!”

_Oh great, voices in my head. Awesome. Wonderful. Fantastic._

A new, exacerbated, and distinctly feminine voice cuts in. “Lance, stop it. Let the man get his bearings.”

“Pick up your radio,” the first voice continues, ignoring the other’s orders. “It should be on your desk.”

Shiro turns and locates the device, tucked behind one of the many supply boxes, and lifts it from its charger.

“Uh, hello? Whoever this is?”

“Hey! You’re Shirogane right?” This first voice cheerfully replies.

“Shiro,” he gently corrects them, “… who is this?”

“I’m Lance! I’m up in Blue tower!

_That’s right. Coran had mentioned that there were two other fire lookouts in the area. Lance and –_

“Allura’s here too! She’s in White tower. Say ‘hi’ Allura!”

The woman, presumably the aforementioned Allura, sighs. “Hello Shiro. I apologize for the … _exuberant_ welcome.”

“Uh, thanks,” he says weakly.

“So Shiro, where are you from? Did you have to travel a long way to get here? What –”

“Lance, I think we should leave him to rest. He’s had a long hike.”

“Oh right! Sorry! It’s just nice to have a fresh face – er … _voice_ around here.” Lance then proceeds to whisper loudly, as though his superior can’t hear him. “You see, Allura isn’t very … _chatty_. Sometimes she even turns off her radio! Can you believe that?!”

“You don’t say,” Shiro mumbles as he begins looking for the off switch.

“ _Lance_ ,” Allura warns.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, night Shiro! Sweet dreams!”

“yes, good night Shiro. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Thanks … night.”

After dropping the radio back into its cradle and flicking off the light, Shiro stumbles to his bed, not even bothering to remove his shoes or prosthetic, before flopping onto the thin mattress. With a soft grunt, he kicks the sheets to floor and tugs the blanket over his shoulders. He no longer has the strength to fight his heavy eyelids and aching limbs, allowing sleep to quickly envelop him as he sinks into a deep, dreamless slumber.

 


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Shiro, he's having a hard day :( Also, the song he hears on the way to the lake is Too Much Blood by The Rolling Stones (TW for cannibalism and murder if you decide to go listen to it. Apparently it's based on a true story. Shit's wild yo.)

Shiro throws his arm over his face with a groan and rolls away from the sunrise and the warm rays beating down upon his face, which is odd, because he normally closes his curtains before going to bed. Confused and bleary eyed, he shifts onto his elbow and looks around. Just as he begins to remember where he is, Lance’s chipper voice calls out over the radio.

“All right sleeping beauty, time rise and shine!”

Shiro flops back with a huff and pulls the blanket over his face.

“C’mon sleepy-head!” Lance continues, “The sun is shining, the birds are singing!”

_They’re birds._

He irritably tugs the blanket higher.

_It’s the only sound they know how to make._

“Waaaaaaaake uuuuuuuu– ”

When Shiro realizes his silence will not deter the other lookout, he stumbles over to radio, plucking it from its charger.

“I’m up! I’m up!” He grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning! Or evening, in this case.

With a frown, Shiro looks out one of the many windows and realizes what he thought was sunrise is actually sunset.

“Jeez, what time is it?” His eyes dart around the cabin, searching for a clock.

“Uuummm …”

Shiro can barely make out Lance’s muffled mumbles of _‘what time is it?’_ as he, presumably, searches his own cabin for a clock.

“Around five?"

Shiro grimaces.  “Oops.”

“It’s alright. Allura said to let you rest before I get you up to speed on your job. That hike takes everyone out of commission,” Lance assures him. “Ok so, do you see that round table thing in the middle of your room? It’s got a map on it.”

Shiro turns from the desk and leans back against it. “I’m looking at it.”

“Great! This thing is the Osborne fire finder, invited a long time ago by some guy named …”

“… Osborne?” Shiro supplies.

“Very good!”  
  
Shiro rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, you use it to spot –”

Before he can finish, Allura’s urgent voice cuts in. “Lance, Shiro, look out your windows. Towards Mirror Lake.”

“Allura?” Lance says with confusion. “What’s – OH FUCK ME!”

“Wow. Language.” Shiro scolds mildly.

“Shiro, look out your window,” Lance urges. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“What? What is it?” Shiro pushes off the desk and turns around, peering out the windows and scanning the area.

Shiro squints as a thin line of gray streaks across the champagne sky, followed by a small burst of smoke and a muffled pop.

“Fireworks? Is that legal?”

“No. Shiro, you need to get out there and stop them,” Allura orders firmly.

“That … wasn’t really in the job description.”

“It is now,” Lance quips.

“Now hold on a minute –”

“Listen, the closest ranger is a two day hike away,” she explains. “All you need to do is go down there and put an end to it.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro frowns. “Are you telling me to … beat the crap out of them?”

“Yes!” Lance shouts.

“No!” Allura quickly interrupts.

“Awww you’re no fun,” Lance huffs with a pout in his voice.

“Well what exactly do you want me to do? Write them a ticket? I’m not a cop! _”_ Shiro says snappishly.

“Look, just … _talk_ to them … make sure they don’t do this again,” Allura says with exasperation. “But don’t do anything that could get you arrested!” She adds quickly.

“Fine,” Shiro mutters, grabbing his pack and heading out the door.

“Where are they coming from anyway?” He asks, looking up at the sky as he descends the stairs.

“Looks like Mirror Lake,” Allura says. “It’s near Arus Meadow.”

“Who even sets off fireworks during the day?” Shiro wonders as he hears more muffled pops in the distance.

“Drunk college students?” Lance offers. “There’s always a few that come out here as soon as school gets out.”

Shiro pulls out his map and compass to get his bearings, then starts to head down the worn dirt trail. Along the way, he spots a bright yellow cache box, and makes a mental note to ask about it later. Right now, he’s a man on a mission. A mission he very much did not sign up for.

Shiro’s attention is suddenly ripped from his disgruntled thoughts when a painfully familiar sound cracks through the air. He instinctively flinches, heart pounding against his rib-cage.

“Did you hear that?” He asks, veins thrumming with adrenaline as he tries to pinpoint the source of the disconcerting noise.

“Hear what?” Lance responds.

“It sounded like a gunshot and … a scream?”

Lance brushes it off, “It was just another firework.”

Shiro, however, is skeptical.

_With fireworks you usually hear the scream and then the bang, not the other way around …_

Squeezing his eyes shut, Shiro quickly shakes his head, like he’s trying to dislodge the paranoid thoughts rattling around in his skull.

_Calm down Shiro, you don’t want them to think you’re crazy. Not on your first day at least._

He takes a deep breath before continuing down the path, though no less restless or alert.

If he wasn’t in such a rush, he would find the trail quite beautiful, with golden rays peeking through the leaves of the trees scattered around the path, providing pleasant shade for any weary travelers.  As it is, he’s too agitated to fully appreciate the splendor surrounding him.

Soon, he comes across a large field. The steadily lowering sun is already kissing the tips of the many trees that surround the periphery and he brings his hand up to shade his eyes as he scans the area. Tall, tawny reeds of grass tickle his knees as he crosses the meadow which eventually tapers out into a loamy area near a rocky outcropping, where he spots thin wisps of smoke emanating from a dying fire-pit.  
  
“Oh look, they decided to have a campfire too,” he says with disdain.

“You know, we color coded the fire danger signs in case people were _illiterate_ ,” Allura huffs.

“I guess you didn’t count on them being plain old stupid,” Lance adds irritably.

Shiro draws closer and toes at the cooling coals of the campfire which, upon closer inspection, appears to have been violently stamped out, with ash and bits of charred wood scattered about. Next to the fire-pit, leaning against some of the many large rocks scattered around the area, are two backpacks and a few unlit fireworks.

“They left all their shit lying around, what should I do with it?”

“Keep it!”

“ _Lance_ ,” Allura says in a warning tone.

“Think of it as compensation,” he explains. “Maybe next time they’ll think twice before they try this shit again.”

Allura sighs, clearly tired of Lance’s antics. “Just don’t do anything too drastic. I don’t want your career as a lookout to end in harassment charges.”

“Gotcha.”

“At least confiscate the fireworks,” she adds.  
  
Shaking his head, Shiro gingerly picks up the fireworks and shoves them into his pack.  
  
“Smoky the bear didn’t die for this,” he mutters to himself.

After the confiscating the fireworks, his attention is suddenly drawn to low muted thump of a bass and the intermittent shriek of horns. He briefly looks around before moving toward the source of the noise. As he walks, he spots a large boulder few yards away from the campfire on which two sets of clothing are neatly laid out.

“Looks like they left their clothes out to dry. It’s just two people.”

“Good, that shouldn’t mean too much trouble,” Allura says optimistically.

“Wait … what if they’re naked?” Lance whispers loudly with enthusiasm.

“Won’t that be exciting,” she responds dryly, her previous cheerfulness gone.

As Shiro takes a deep breath and continues down the path to the lake, he starts to hear halfhearted rapping. It’s getting louder and he strains to make out the mumbled lyrics when his eyes catch sight of something red hooked on a low branch. He freezes.

“Uhhhh guys?”

“What?”

“I found some … underwear,” he reports, taking a step back as the offending article waves in his direction, swayed by the wind.

“So?” Allura responds calmly.

“You don’t understand it’s … it’s a … uh ...” Shiro squeezes his eyes shut as he forces the words out, his face heating up with an embarrassed flush. “… _bra_.”

“ _So_?” Allura says again, with emphasis.

“There is at least _one_ – possibly _two_ – naked girls out on that lake!” Shiro explains with exasperation.

“Hold on Allura, this sounds serious!” Lance cuts in. “Wait there Shiro, I’ll come help you!”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Allura warns firmly. “Listen Shiro, just do your job and remain professional.”

“My _job …_ riiiiight.”

As Shiro cautiously winds through the slightly narrow trail, he grows close enough to make out the lyrics, which mention something about blood. When he spots another set of underwear he grimaces, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“There are _two_ naked girls out here,” Shiro hisses.

“This is _so_ not fair.”

“ _Lance_.”

With a sigh, Shiro reluctantly continues, pushing a low branch away to reveal the sparkling lake. He shades his eyes from the sun as its golden rays bleed between the trees on the horizon and dance across the surface of the water. The beauty before him is dazzling enough to make him momentarily forget what he’s there for. However, the sudden blast of horns reminds him of his mission and he turns in the direction of the noise.

Though a considerable distance away, he can make out the silhouette of someone laying on a large outcropping of boulders along the shoreline.

“Found one of ‘em,” Shiro whispers into his radio.

“Are they naked?” Lance asks with barely contained excitement.

Shiro grits his teeth. “I’m trying not to notice.”

“Good luck,” is all Allura has to offer.  
  
As he approaches, his movements are drowned out by the obnoxiously loud thump of percussion and the singer’s indifferent rapping blasting from the stereo. His gaze flicks up to the reclining figure who he can now recognize is a young man. Not that he was checking.

Making sure to keep his eyes trained on the boy’s face, Shiro nervously clears his throat before calling out.

“H-hey!”

The surprised sunbather lurches forward, glossy black hair brushing along his jaw as his head snaps in Shiro’s direction.  Shiro momentarily forgets how to speak as the person stares down at him with dark, wide eyes.

Quickly regaining his faculties, Shiro folds his arms across his chest and musters his best drill sergeant voice.

“You are in so much tr– no wait gET BACK HERE!” He calls as the sunbather dives into the water and begins swimming away.

But it’s too late. The boy swiftly glides through the water and makes his way behind a tiny rock formation in the middle of the lake, slipping out of view.

“Well shit,” Shiro mutters.

It’s hard to give someone a proper scolding when they’re hiding from you.

With a disgruntled sigh he scans the area. When his gaze falls on a pair of garishly red briefs lying on top of the rock his features twist into an embarrassed scowl.

_It’s a sea of nudes and I’m Poseidon._

Shaking his head, Shiro continues to look around, but sees no sign of the two girls. Scrubbing his hand over his face, Shiro tries to figure out what to do next when his eyes settle on the old white stereo still polluting the air with the screech of horns and sporadic scatting. He cocks an eyebrow as a petty idea pops into his head. If there’s one thing he knows about teens it’s that they hate it when you mess with their stuff, having been a teen himself once not so long ago.

“COOL STEREO!” He shouts across the lake.

No response.

“MIGHT KEEP IT!” He continues to goad, still hoping the boy might show his face.

Still no response.

Shiro frowns. “Nothing huh? Fine then.”

He turns the stereo off and shoves it into his pack. If the kid wants it back, he’s going to have to come and get it.  
  
“I’M GOING NOW!”

Nothing.

“Fine. Whatever, jerk,” Shiro grumbles and turns away from the lake.

“It’s done,” He reports coldly.

“That sounds … ominous,” Allura says with apprehension.

“What happened?” Lance asks.

“I uh … _confiscated_ their stereo,” Shiro says. “They took off before I could talk to them and I was hoping I could coax them out.”

“Did it work?” Allura asks.

“No, but I think they got the message.”

“Well, that’s the main point I suppose,” she says.

“I only saw one person though,” Shiro continues. “A boy. Don’t know where the two girls got to.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” She assures him. “They’re gone, and so are the fireworks. Good job.”

“Can I head back now?” he asks wearily.

“Of course Shiro, thanks for dealing with that. Also, I’ll be going quiet for a while, just ask Lance if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

A few yards away from the shore, he comes across a small sign that reads _‘Black Tower’_ and follows the direction it points toward. It leads him through a shallow canyon with a pretty little stream running through it. Shiro slowly treks back, taking the time to bask in the heat radiating off the rock walls and the sound of the slim brook babbling beside him.

As he nears the end of the canyon, he finds another one of those yellow boxes.

“Hey, I found some kind of supply box,” he says, fiddling with the combination lock.

“They’re for rangers and lookouts,” Lance explains. “You can go ahead take whatever you want out of it. The code is 1234.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow and spins the tumblers.

“It’s the code for all the boxes actually,” Lance admits.  
  
Shiro just shakes his head in disbelief and flips open the lid.  
  
“There’s an old comic book in here.”

The cover is torn and weathered. All he can make out of the title is _The Rise of Vo –_. He flips it over. Apparently it’s about a giant robot … or something.

Lance pipes up. “There’s not much to do up here except read, hike, and grapple with your inner demons sooooo, you can go ahead and take it with you.”

Shiro shrugs and slips the comic into his backpack for later. Underneath the comic he finds a flashlight. He presses the button on and off, shaking it a bit before it suddenly shines in his eyes. He blinks a few times and shakes his to relieve himself of his temporary blindness. After regaining his sight, he continues down the path, only traveling a few feet before coming across the opening of a cave.

His blood turns to ice in his veins.

“I found a cave –” ~~~~

“Ooohhh Devil’s Den,” Lance cuts in, voice low and dramatically ominous.

“Yeah … that,” Shiro says flatly, unimpressed. “Is going through it the only way back to my tower?”

“Just the shortest. And it’s not really a cave, not anymore. It’s more of a tunnel. You just have to walk about 50 feet then you’re out on the trail again.”  
  
Shiro frowns, anxiety coiling low in his stomach.  
  
“What’s in there anyway?” He asks, still maintaining a safe distance.

“ _Weeeell …_ ”  
  
Shiro can almost _hear_ Lance grinning as his own face pulls into a glower.  
  
“There’s this old native legend about these _huge_ bigfoot-like monsters, known ‘round here as the _Balmera Beast,_ which live in the caves. Supposedly they come out at night and kidnap naughty children and wayward campers. ooOOOooh~”

“Uh _huh_ …” Shiro hums, lips pressed into a thin, unenthusiastic line.

He takes a tentative step closer. “Is it safe?”

“Dude, I’m your boss, not your babysitter.”

“Wait _you’re_ my boss now?”

“As long as Allura is out of contact I am. That’s why you are out there working your ass off, while I’m safe and sound in my tower.”

“I thought I was out here because I was closer.”

“That too.”

Shiro just rolls his eyes and continues to avoid the inevitable.

“Is Allura out of contact often?”

“Sometimes? Like I’ve said, she’s not very interested in socializing beyond work, not that I haven’t tried. I’ve offered to visit her a few times but she either declines or says she’s out patrolling.” ~~~~

“Isn’t that a little odd?”

“Dunno. As long as I don’t have to run around in the wilderness like a savage, I keep my mouth shut.”

_Funny, seeing as that’s something you rarely do._

Shiro clips his radio to his belt and cautiously approaches the cave, peering into the darkness. His stomach twists with familiar dread tightening low in his gut, sinking like lead through quicksand. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, clenching his fist as he shakes his head.

“This is stupid,” he reasons, setting his jaw with determination.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he steps inside. He’s no more than few feet deep when he’s overtaken with an unnatural chill, not caused by the cave. A cold heavy pressure starts to bear down on him, immobilizing him under its weight. Around him, light and shadow dance around the edges of his vision as he stumbles back.

He doesn’t even realize he’s out of the cave until his back hits the wall of the canyon, its warmth doing nothing to take the edge of the numbness overwhelming him.

His skull pounds and he can feel the blood throbbing through his veins as his heart hammers violently, threatening to either explode or burst from his rib-cage.

Everything around him is hazy as presses off the canyon wall, desperate to get away.

He hardly registers the added weight of his waterlogged boots as he drags his feet through the stream before staggering down the path ahead of him. Silhouettes of trees and bushes blur together in his periphery as he focuses solely on placing one foot in front of the other.

Eventually, his breathing evens out and his vision grows clearer. After taking a few long, deep breaths, he runs his fingers through his bangs, away from where it was plastered to his forehead. Blinking slowly, he looks around. There’s nothing but trees and brush, not even a patchy dirt path to be seen.

With trembling fingers, he pulls out the map, hoping to find any identifiable landmarks.

Thinking back through his panic induced haze, he vaguely remembers seeing the yellow blur of a cache box. If he can find that again he’ll be able to find his way back. However, that’s easier said than done.

He looks around with a concerned frown.

Everything looks the same. Just trees and rocks. Anxiety begins to bubble in his veins again but he promptly quashes it.

“There’s no need to panic,” he reasons with himself. “I just need to get to higher ground.”  
  
As he scans the area he spots a rocky area a little ways ahead that he can climb. It’s a bit difficult, as he is still slightly shaky, but he slowly clambers up and surveys his surroundings. On the other side of the escarpment is a steep shale slide.

Peeking over the edge, Shiro barely has the chance to register his sinking footing before he slides down with a yelp. He flings his arms to his sides in an attempt to slow his descent, gritting his teeth as sharp rock and gravel dig into his unprotected skin.

Once he reaches to bottom, he gives himself a moment to catch his breath before experimentally flexing fingers and toes to make sure nothing broke. He sits up with a groan, wincing as he lifts and twists his arm for examination. Hissing, he brushes off the bits of grass and dirt lodged in his skin. It’s nothing life threatening, but it is bad enough to leave the limb tingling with pain. Fortunately, there’s a first aid kit back at his tower he can use to patch himself up with. His gaze falls to his other arm and grimaces.

The skin will heal in a few days, the prosthetic however …

Shiro sighs in resignation. “I’ll just have to live with it.”

As he rolls onto his hip to stand, he catches a glimpse of something tucked away inside a natural rock awning a few feet away from him.

Curiosity overwhelms him, and he finds himself crawling over to investigate. He ducks under the low rock ceiling and discovers an old backpack tucked in the corner. With a grunt, he sits back and pulls his prize into his lap. His face pulls into a slight grimace as he brushes off a few cobwebs and dust before inspecting it carefully. Though the edges are worn, and the fabric is discolored, it was obviously a very striking shade of red at one time. On the bottom is a name written in bold but faded letters: Akira Kogane.

Shiro unclips the radio from his belt, grateful that it hadn’t been damaged during the fall.

“Hey, Lance? I found an abandoned pack. Judging by the collection of dust and number of bugs living under it, I figure it’s been out here a while.”

“Finders keepers!” Lance sing-songs.

“What are you, 12?” Shiro scoffs.

“On a scale of 1 to 10.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and opens the pack. Inside he finds a disposable camera, several ropes, anchors, and –

“Holy shit.”

Shiro’s breath catches in his throat as he slowly pulls a magnum from the pack. The weight of it is heavy and familiar in his hand. He vividly remembers the time he’d ' _borrowed'_ his father’s magnum when he was 13. The kickback nearly broke his wrist, though that was nothing compared to what was waiting for him when his father returned home.

He swallows as his stomach begins to churn and his palm grows sweaty under the weight of the sidearm.

“Uh … there’s a gun in here.”

“Holy shit! Uh … ok.”

“What should I do with it?”

“I dunno,” Lance says helplessly.

“Should I like … turn it in or…”

“I guess? Hmmmm …”  
  
While Lance thinks, Shiro waits, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second.  
  
“Rangers don’t come around here very often and it’s a long hike back to the Service, so I say just keep it. You can ... use it as a paperweight.”

“There are bullets in it,” Shiro says flatly.

“… It’ll be fine,” Lance sounds like he’s trying to assure himself as much as he is Shiro.  
  
He frowns. That was what Ryou always said … right before everything went to shit.

For a moment, he considers just shoving the rucksack back where he found it. To just forget it about it and try to have a calm summer like he’d planned. Although … the ropes are practically brand new … and he could really use the anchors. Plus, the knapsack is still in decent condition, and he hates the thought of throwing something out when it’s still useful, especially now that he knows the name of the owner. Besides, it’s not like he could fit the supplies into his own pack, especially after he shoved the stereo and fireworks into it.

His gaze falls on the gun in his lap and his brows furrow.

Just having it _near_ him is enough to set off alarms bells in the more reasonable part of his brain. But holding it, feeling the cold weight of it …

Callused fingers slowly wrap around the grip, with one hovering just above the trigger. He knows better than to keep it. He knows he should just toss it in a bush or throw it into the lake. And yet …

Shiro quickly swipes his tongue across his lower lip before removing the clip from the gun, tossing both into the pack and hoisting it onto his shoulder.  He pushes all warnings to the back of his mind as he dusts off his knees and the seat of his shorts.

He shoots a withering glare at the shale slide before turning and beginning his long hike southward.

As Shiro scans the area for any recognizable landmarks or signs, he spots what appears to be a power line connected to several tall poles that jut from the ground and disappear over the hills beyond. Their presence is intrusive and alien amid the nature surrounding him.

He unclips his radio.

“Why would there be power lines out here?” He asks, “I thought our only source of electricity was our generators.”

“It’s actually a phone line,” Allura explains, having apparently finished whatever task took her away from her radio. “I use it to communicate with the Service and report fires.”

There’s a brief pause before she continues.

“But … that would be up near Liontooth Point,” She says with confusion, “how did you get all the way over there?”

“I guess I took a wrong turn,” Shiro replies sheepishly.

“That was one hell of a turn,” Lance marvels.

“… Shiro, are you lost?” Allura asks kindly.

Shiro bristles with embarrassment but swallows his pride enough to get out a curt, “Yes.”

“Don’t feel bad. It happens,” Allura reassures him. “You’re actually very close to your tower. Just keep going south. Once you hit Ruby River, start heading west. That should put you on the right track.”

“Thanks.”

“But please hurry,” she urges him. “I don’t want you out there after sunset.”  
  
Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice and quickly continues southward. It’s not long before he recognizes the trail he’d gone through when he first arrived in his sector. He knows his tower is not much further, which is fortunate, as the sun is nothing more than a pink haze on the distant skyline and darkness threatens to envelop him.

A relieved sigh slips past his lips when he sees the light of his tower.  
  
_Wait … light?_  
  
Shiro’s brows pinch together in confusion.  
  
_I don’t remember leaving it on_.  
   
As he draws nearer, he catches glimpse of someone moving around inside and his heart squeezes as his veins flood with adrenaline. Slowly, cautiously, he makes his way up the stairs, wincing with every creaky board. Once at the top, he crouches underneath the window before peeking in. He rears to his full height when he recognizes that the intruder, who is currently looking under his mattress and bed, is the swimmer from earlier.

Shiro bolts toward the door and slams it open with a shout. “YOU!”

The interloper spins, eyes wide with shock. As Shiro advances on him, the trespasser hastily hops onto the mattress and squeezes out the open window over the bed.

Shiro runs out the door and around the balcony, hoping to head him off before he can get to the stairs. Too bad he didn’t take into account the possibility that his intruder would simply swing over tower railing. Shiro rushes to the banister and leans over, watching helplessly as the boy clambers down the tower’s legs like a monkey before disappearing into the woods. If he wasn’t so pissed off, Shiro would be impressed. But he isn’t.

“Dammit,” he spits, scrambling for his radio. “Someone just broke into my tower!”

“What!?” Lance squawks.

“Who?” Allura asks anxiously.

“One of our firebugs. Tore the place up too.”

“Holy shit dude!” Lance exclaims.

Allura’s calm voice breaks through the panic. “Hold on, I’ll let the Service know what happened. What did they look like?”

“It was the guy. He had dark chin length hair, a large tan jacket, baseball cap and black jeans. I couldn’t see his face though, it was covered with a bandana.”

“Got it. I’ll call it in.”

“Did you see the other two?” Lance asks.

“No. Just him. The girls must have been somewhere else. Waiting for him maybe.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“I don’t know … for ruining their fun?” Shiro offers weakly.

“Maybe he wanted his stereo back?” Lance suggests.

Shiro winces as the sharp sting of regret sinks in. “Yeah … probably.”

With slow exhale, Shiro surveys the scene. The cupboards and boxes have been opened, their contents emptied and strewn across the floor while his mattress lies cockeyed, his pillow and blanket unceremoniously tossed aside.  
  
“Ok, I let Coran know what’s happened and gave him instructions to stop anyone matching your description from leaving the park,” Allura reports, “Assuming they came through officially.”

“ _Officially?_ What does that even mean?” Shiro snaps.

“Coran keeps a log of everyone who has been officially in and out of the trailhead,” she explains. “But that doesn’t stop people from just wandering in.”

“That’s not much to work with,” Lance mutters.

“I know,” she admits. “But if anything else happens at least we can refer back to it.”

“Will they be able to catch who did it?” Shiro asks.

“This is the Forest Service, not Hawaii Five-O,” Lance scoffs.

“Thanks, very reassuring,” Shiro says tersely.

“This is just great,” Lance continues. “I thought I only had to worry about bears, fires, and mind numbing boredom out here, not nudist pyromaniacs with a penchant for vandalism.”

“You weren’t even the one attacked, _I_ was,” Shiro reminds him.

“I’m sorry this happened Shiro,” Allura says unhappily. “It’s important to me that you and Lance feel safe out here.” _  
  
_ He’s about to retort when the old pack slips from his shoulder with a heavy thud. The sound draws his attention and he finds his thoughts wandering to its contents. His fingers twitch.  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” he mutters darkly. “I can protect myself.”  
  
_I’ve done it before_.  
  
Shiro takes a deep breath, wrenching his thoughts from the darker corners of him mind.  
  
“I think I’m just gonna go to bed and … deal with the mess in the morning.”

“I understand,” Allura says. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Good night Shiro.”

“Yeah, sweet dreams, tough guy.”  
  
Shiro sets the radio in its cradle and locks the door, causing it to rattle when he tests the knob. He plucks the bedding from the floor and quickly makes his bed before gracelessly collapsing onto it with a grunt. The springs creak in protest as he sluggishly rolls onto his back to yank off his boots, which fall to the floor with a resounding thud. After tugging off his socks, Shiro wiggles his toes with a relieved sigh.

He’s tempted to just crawl under the safety of the covers and forget about this crazy day when a low gurgle emanates from his midsection. With a grimace, his eyes dart to the supplies strewn about the room. Despite his stomach’s pleading, there is no way he has the energy to collect the canned food scattered about the floor, let alone cook it. Luckily, he still has some protein bars in his pack and it only takes a bit of rummaging to dig them out. After procuring his _‘dinner’_ his gaze falls on the old rucksack.

Shiro hastily retrieves the gun and slips it beneath his mattress, leaving the clip in the pack in the hope that he will never need to use it. For now the gun will simply act as a deterrent in case he gets any more unexpected visits.

He also grabs the first aid kit, carefully cleaning his injuries and applying some antiseptic before slapping a dressing over the scrapes and wrapping his arm in gauze.

The thin mattress dips when he plops down to slowly remove his prosthetic. He inhales sharply, hissing as his fingers gently rub at the angry red marks left by the straps. He knows he should have taken it off last night, but he’d been so exhausted the thought had been a mere whisper in the back of his mind. After carefully setting his prosthetic on the makeshift nightstand, he flops back with a huff and tears off a sizable chunk of protein bar.

Chewing slowly, he stares up at the ceiling under drooping eyelids. He can feel the outline of the magnum pressing into his shoulder and his face twists with discomfort. He rolls onto his side and presses closer to the wall, as far away from the gun as possible.

With a heavy sigh he closes his eyes, the day’s events flashing through his mind in a blur. He’s in for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. I'll prolly post another chapter tomorrow because I'm impatient for Keith and Shiro to finally meet.


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when the chapters had real titles this was going to be called 'Clean like a ghibli girl'.

Shiro wakes with a sigh as the warm rays of morning gently rouse him. Groaning, he nuzzles his face deeper into the thin pillow, his one exposed eye blinking slowly. Reluctantly, he detangles himself from his sheets, swinging his feet onto the floor.

Like most humans stumbling blindly through adulthood, Shiro needs caffeine to function properly, so he places the kettle on the burner and shuffles over to the instant coffee tin on the floor, stepping over several other canned goods in the process.

As the water comes to a boil he leans against the counter, surveying the horror-show that is his cabin. Luckily, nothing was stolen, but it is definitely going to be a beast to clean up. With a sigh, he lifts the whistling kettle off the burner to pour the steaming water into his mug. He inhales deeply, savoring the rich aroma before diving in with a loud sip.

While Shiro nurses the warm cup, he devises a battle plan. His eyes narrow at the cobwebs in the corners and the thin layer of dust covering, well, _everything_. It hadn’t bothered him when he’d first arrived. He’d been too tired to care then. But now …

After donning his prosthetic, he rolls up invisible sleeves with a huff, eyes steely with determination. His mother always told him that there was nothing quite as cathartic as a good spring cleaning. Though his younger self would debate that claim, his current self is inclined to agree.

He starts by opening the windows, letting a cool breeze through.

Next, he gets to work on the mess on the floor. There are plenty of cleaning supplies to work with – paper towels, an ammonia cleaner, vinegar, and bleach. For now, he tucks them into the cupboard before moving on to the canned food. At least he’ll never have to worry about starving, as he has a plethora of food at his disposal.

He also finds a cookbook. Well … _cookbook_ would be considered a rather loose term for the thin spiral binder in his hands. He skims through some of the recipes with only mild trepidation. He was never a very good cook, having relied solely on takeout and TV dinners to sustain him after he moved out of his parent’s place. But he knows he can’t live off protein bars forever. Besides, it would be good for him to learn something new.

Wrapping a towel around the lower half of his face, he grabs the broom from the corner and sweeps it across the ceiling with long strokes, collecting webbing and sending spiders skittering off to find new homes.

“Sorry,” he apologetically mumbles to the evicted arachnids.

With that done, he drags the rug out of the cabin and hangs it over the railing, his vigorous beating only interrupted by an occasional sneeze. He attacks the dirt and dust with vigor, channeling all his earlier frustrations into his aggressive sweeping and scrubbing.

When Shiro finally stands back to admire his work the sun is only just reaching its peak and the light pierces through the now spotless windows. A satisfied smile tugs at Shiro’s lips as his eyes scan the cabin. Cutlery and cookware sparkle like new, and the polished floor and cupboards practically shine. It definitely looks better than when he had arrived, causing his chest to puff with some well-deserved pride.

All that’s left to do is unload the contents of his two packs. He begins with his own, slipping the novel-size book of crosswords Ryou had given him for Christmas, as well as the comic he’d found, onto the shelf. He fishes out the confiscated fireworks and stereo, tucking them under the desk with a hint of shame before moving on to his clothes and other necessities which he places in the set of drawers.

Next, he opens the backpack he’d found yesterday. After hastily shoving the clip to the back of one of the desk drawers, he works on moving the rope, anchors and camera to his own pack. As he feels around the bottom of the bag for anything he missed, he pulls out an old leather holster he’d overlooked the other day.

The first thing he notices about it is the broken belt loops. That would explain why the gun was simply left in the pack rather than worn, but not why the owner kept it. The holster isn’t exactly what one would call high quality. The stitching is a bit haphazard as shown by uneven spacing and the crude attempt at the initials _A.K_. Though it’s obvious that whoever made it eventually improved, as the needlework gradually grows more even and neat.

Shiro runs his fingers over the worn leather with a soft smile. The owner – _Akira_ – must have been really attached to it. ~~~~

As he sets the holster on the desk, the circumstances that brought it into his possession swirl around in his mind and his features twist into a frown. He should probably find route home other than cave, especially if he plans on spending any amount of time hiking in the area. ~~~~

He pulls out the map and spreads it across the desk, studying it carefully. He vaguely remembers passing a shale slide while walking through the canyon.  Now that he has anchors and rope, he should be able to access it easily. Scanning the map, he soon spots a possible route and dons his backpack. After locking the door and windows, he heads out and down the trail.

As he walks, he spots the supply box he’d passed yesterday. Its formerly bright yellow paint is chipped with age, but not badly enough that he can’t make out the Forest Service insignia proudly displayed on the lid in black. He quickly spins the tumblers, still somewhat incredulous of the simplicity of the code.

Inside he finds a few pinecones, a dubious looking granola bar, and a note.

**7/30**

**Hey C,**

**Black couldn’t cut it so I packed up his lookout. Found one of those bars you like so much in his stuff. I’ll be heading out, but let’s shoot the shit when I get back.**

**– J**

_C and J?_

_… I wonder who they are._

After pocketing the note, he eyes the bar warily and decides that a quick snack is not worth the risk of food poisoning. He leaves the food behind, quickly re-locking the cache before following the trail marked on his map.

The path is somewhat narrow and choked by overgrown brush, presumably from lack of use. However, Shiro takes it all in stride and remains optimistic as he makes his way down the winding trail. The brush soon thins significantly as the terrain grows rockier and Shiro finds himself hopping down short ledges that will hopefully not prove too difficult upon his return.

It doesn’t take long before Shiro comes across a naturally occurring rock bridge that stretches over the canyon. Or at least it would be a bridge, were it not for the two-foot gap between the rocks. He peeks over edge and makes a mental note to bring some of the boards he’d found strewn around the bottom of his tower before easily vaulting the space. A few yards ahead of the bridge, to his left, is the shale slide he’d spotted the other day. Peering over the incline, he decides that it will make a perfect detour from cave. He won’t even have to see it.

He rubs his fingers along a crack in the canyon wall and drives a piton into it, then securely attaches the rope. After giving the rope a few experimental tugs, he tests it with his full body weight. Once satisfied, he lets the rope drop down to the ground.

It won’t be an easy climb, but anything would be better than the cave.

Tilting his head back, Shiro stares at the strikingly blue expanse above him, shielding his eyes from the sun. His gaze falls back to earth, drifting further down the trail. Since he’s already out, he figures he might as well explore, and continues down the path.

It’s a quiet walk. His only company is the sound of the dry grass and gravel crunching beneath his feet. That is until he starts to hear voices, and boisterous laughter. He follows the sound over a hill and finds two men assembling their tent in the distance.

“Hey, guys? I found some campers,” he reports, maintaining an appreciable distance as he observes them.

“Are they our pyromaniacs?” Lance asks.

“No. It’s two men. They seem to be setting up camp.”

“Oh? What area are you in?” Allura inquires.

“I’m … in an open area near Liontooth Point,” he replies after checking his map.

“Wait, that’s not a camping area, is it?” Lance asks, confused.

“No, it isn’t. Shiro, you’ll have to tell them to leave,” Allura says firmly. “There's a designated campsite in Lance’s sector they can stay at. It should be on your map”

“What wrong with my sector?” Shiro frowns, almost petulantly.

“Your area is known for bear attacks. That's why there is a strict no camping rule,” Allura explains. “You see, the more people there are around, the less likely they are to bother you, hence the designated campsites.”

A heavy sigh gusts past Shiro’s lips. He watches the pair as they attempt to set up their tent, the younger laughing after he’s nearly hit in the face by the flexible tent pole.  
  
“The rules are there to keep them safe," she continues. "It is your duty to abide by those rules and see that they are enforced. Do I make myself clear?”  
****  
Shiro stiffens instinctively, Allura’s stern manner reminding him of his mother when she meant business. Which was often.  
  
 “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. I have to be out of contact for a bit,” she says in a clipped tone, “and I hope,” she continues sternly, “that they will be packed up and on their way by the time I get back.”

Shiro, surprised by her severity, waits a bit before speaking up. “That was … something …”

“Yeah …” Lance says weakly.

“Did she seem a little … _harsh_ to you?”

“It’s only because she cares,” the other lookout insists.

Shiro rubs the back of his neck and reluctantly heads towards the campers to tell them the bad news.

“Well, hello there!” The older gentleman calls out once he spots Shiro.

The young man with him turns and waves.

“Hi,” Shiro waves back.

“Fine day for a walk,” the man says pleasantly.

“It is,” Shiro agrees, stopping just short of their camp.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Samuel Holt, and this is my son, Matthew,” Mr. Holt says, clapping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

He grins toothily. “You can call me Matt.”

“I’m Shiro, I’m a fire lookout in Black Tower.”

“Well, I guess that makes us neighbors then,” Mr. Holt says cheerfully.

“Er – about that … I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you can’t camp here.”

Matt’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Camping is only allowed in certain designated areas,” Shiro explains before shrugging. “It’s a safety thing.”

“We’re only here to study the habits of some of the wildlife in the area,” Mr. Holt explains. “Our goal is to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“It’s not up me. My boss was … _very_ insistent.” Shiro then pulls out his map and points them to the campsite. “You can still continue your studies, just remember to get to the camp before dark and stick together.”  
  
The father and son look at each other briefly before reluctantly agreeing.

“I really am sorry,” Shiro adds, brows drawn together with genuine remorse.

Mr. Holt gives him a friendly pat on shoulder. “It’s quite alright son, you’re just doing your job.”

“Would you like some help moving to the site?” Shiro offers.

“Oh, no!” Matt quickly interjects. “We have some … _delicate_ equipment. If it isn’t handled just so …”

“I understand. Have a good day,” Shiro waves before wandering back onto the path.

Continuing down the trail, he soon comes across an area destroyed by fire, the scorched earth crunching beneath his boots. The burnt remains of trees protrude from the ground like enormous punji sticks, piercing the heavens. Sparse orange needles cling to thin branches while seared roots emerge from ground like the talons of some great beast clawing its way out of the charred soil.

It must not have been recent fire though, as new growth has already started cropping up in the form of stout saplings and brush.

As Shiro winds through the area, a glint in the distance catches his eye and he makes his way toward it. He soon realizes it’s a fence, about ten feet high and topped with razor-wire. The cold metal shines in the afternoon sun, starkly contrasting the natural beauty surrounding it.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Shiro follows the seemingly endless enclosure, growing more and more confused as he walks.

“Hey Lance, why would there be a fence out here?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want people wandering off too far and falling off cliffs, now would we?” He explains, his voice difficult to hear over the sudden crackling of the radio.

“Hence the ten-foot-tall chain link fence?”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, it’s _huge_. And it goes on forever.”

“Huh, that’s weird,” is all Lance supplies.

“Who could have put it up here? And why?”

“I dunno, biologists?”

“Biologists?”

“Yeah, they sometimes come out here for research. They study various flora and fauna in the area.”

“Well, I’ve been following it for quite a while now and it’s still going.”

“Okay … that’s _really_ weird … they usually only cordon off a small area. I can’t imagine what they’d need that much space for.”

Shiro shudders. “It looks like goddamn Area 51.”

“Maybe they’ve got aliens?”

“Wouldn’t that be fun …” Shiro says dryly.

He’s beginning to wonder if it even _has_ an end when he hears a faint rattling further down. Cautiously, he follows the sound down the length of the fence, freezing when he spots the intruder from last night. Keeping a safe distance, he reaches for his radio and whispers into the receiver.  
  
“Someone’s trying to break into the fence. It’s the same guy who broke into my tower.”

“Ooooh payback time!” Lance whispers gleefully.

“You’re not taking this seriously are you?” Shiro huffs.

“Nope.”  
  
Shiro’s eyes narrow and his tongue quickly swipes across his dry lips as he silently approaches, making sure to keep out of sight. This caution is unnecessary however, as the other man is too busy abusing the poor fence to notice Shiro creeping ever closer.

The fence rattles violently when the boy gives it a frustrated kick, causing the bright red _No Trespassing_ sign to fall to the ground with a loud clatter. He takes a few steps back and huffs, scanning the ground before picking up a thick branch. He tries to pry the gate open with the stick, but it quickly snaps, causing him to curse under his breath. Behind him, Shiro rises to his full height and glares as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Need help with that?”

The younger man doesn’t even turn to look at him this time, he just runs.

“Oh no you don’t!” Shiro lunges forward and manages to grab him by the collar.

The boy gives a sharp yelp before slipping out of the jacket and spinning around with his fists up, his long bangs hanging over fiery eyes.  
  
Shiro groans incredulously. “Are you serious?”

As soon as the words leave Shiro’s mouth, the man charges him. Shiro’s eyes widen and he takes a hasty step back, lifting his left arm to block the blow with his upper-arm. Seizing his opportunity, the younger man bends a little at the knees and swings with his left arm, his fist colliding with Shiro’s lower ribs.

Despite his smaller size, the other man packs one hell of a punch, causing Shiro to wince and double over slightly to soften the blow. This allows the shorter man a swift punch to the side of Shiro’s head with a right hook.

As Shiro staggers back, his ears ring and he quickly realizes that he underestimated the boy. He also realizes there’s no way he can risk damaging his prosthetic in this fight.

_I’ll just have to improvise._

A smug grin tugs at the young man’s lips and he twists his upper-body in preparation for swing with his left arm. Luckily, Shiro recovers just fast enough to block the punch.

With a frown, the smaller man pulls back and tries to land another hit with his right arm. Shiro uses this opening to throw a quick punch that connects with the corner of the other man’s eye, making him stumble back.

Injured but undeterred, the younger man shoots Shiro a glare and takes a step back. He slowly circles Shiro like a prowling lion, his previous cockiness replaced with caution.

Without warning, he surges forward and grabs Shiro’s wrist with his left arm, yanking it down as he swings with his right. What the boy lacks in stature, he more than makes up for with incredible speed and Shiro finds himself struggling to dodge the blow. Shiro leans back in the nick of time but feels the cool whoosh of air pass across his cheeks as other man’s fist nearly collides with his nose. Thinking quickly, Shiro kicks the legs out from under him, causing him to release Shiro’s wrist as he falls.

A small cloud of dust billows around them as the boy hits the ground with a loud grunt, his teeth harshly clacking together. Shiro can’t help but feel impressed by the other man’s determination as he scrambles to his feet. However, that feeling is soon replaced with apprehension when he catches a glimpse of the hunting knife holstered to the back of his belt.

As soon as the younger man regains his footing he immediately lunges, swinging wildly with his right arm. Shiro quickly turns, raising his elbow and bringing it down to pin the other man’s arm against his chest. The boy's eyes widen, and he throws desperate punch with his other hand.

Keeping his opponent’s arm trapped, Shiro lifts his forearm and snatches the man’s wrist mid swing, tugging the young man flush to his chest. Their eyes meet, and Shiro is immediately struck by the other’s fiery intensity as the boy glares up at him defiantly, his arms closely resembling a pretzel as he tugs fruitlessly against Shiro’s hold.

“What are you doing up here?” Shiro demands.

“Nuthin’ … leggo!” He jerks in Shiro’s hold but Shiro just grips him tighter.

“Not. Good. Enough.” Shiro hisses.

“I was just curious ok?” He snaps, finally growing still. “Is it a crime to have a healthy sense of curiosity?”

Shiro’s eyes narrow with suspicion. Against his better judgement, he releases the boy. He folds his arms across his chest, ready to give chase at a moment’s notice.

“If that’s all it was then why did you try to run?”

“You snuck up on me and I just … panicked! I’m not sure if you noticed, but you’re built like a brick shithouse … _kinda intimidating_ ,” he retorts, massaging his wrist.

Shiro balks. “Sh-shithouse?”

_I’m not that big … am I? There were plenty of guys bigger than me in the service. Although…_

Shiro’s fingers clench around the ghost of a thin wrist. While not scrawny, the boy is definitely smaller compared to him, making his apprehension completely understandable.

Slowly, cautiously, the younger man picks up his jacket. His eyes dart nervously back to Shiro, like he’s afraid one false move will set him off. Even when Shiro adopts a more relaxed posture in the hopes of pacifying him, the other man observes him warily, peering through long dark bangs as he pulls the jacket over his slim frame.

“Besides,” the boy adds, tugging his dusty cap firmly over his head, “I’d rather not have anyone know I’m out here.”

“Oh?” Shiro’s brows furrow as suspicions begin to bubble up again. “And why is that?”

The younger man shifts uncomfortably under Shiro’s scrutinizing glare.

Noticing this, Shiro softens his features and voice. “You can tell me … it’s okay.”

He stares skeptically at Shiro, the corners of his mouth twisting into a doubtful frown.

With an exacerbated huff, Shiro unclips his radio. “Fine.”

“No!”

The boy reaches for the radio but retracts just as quickly, pulling his fingers to his chest like they’d been burned. The sudden outburst surprises Shiro and he stills.

“I – I just … I had to … to get away!” He begins, almost frantically, as pleading eyes scan Shiro’s face for any hint of sympathy, “… from everything,” his voice suddenly grows hushed, head hanging, fists clenched tight with frustration. “So I’d appreciate it,” he continues quietly, half mumbling, “If you didn’t tell anyone about me.”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he observes the boy. He seems far more vulnerable now. Small and scared. However, Shiro knows better than to let his guard down so soon.

“Still … you did break into my tower,” Shiro says, not quite ready to back down.

“Only because you stole my stereo!” The other man argues.

“Confiscated,” Shiro corrects him. “… What about the fireworks?”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” Shiro asks, fully expecting the boy to rat out his friends.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “But it doesn’t matter. I took care of them.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Shiro says warily, brows pressing together with concern.

“Relax, I just scared them off ok? Frankly, you should be thanking me. I _did_ do your job for you,” he quips, defiantly folding his arms across his chest.

“I’ll get you medal,” Shiro says flatly.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s getting late, and the past couple days are finally catching up to him.

“Ok listen … you promise not to skulk around here anymore, and I won’t tell anyone you’re out here. Deal?”

The sudden movement of Shiro offering his hand makes the boy flinch and his eye’s flick warily from Shiro’s outstretched hand to his face.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “… Deal.”

And with that, he takes off down the trail at a dead run, leaving Shiro to gawk.

“Holy shit he’s fast,” Shiro marvels to himself.

After overcoming his initial shock, Shiro looks down at the radio in his hand and, with a sigh, turns it on.

“I got rid of him.”

“Did you give him a piece of your mind … or fist?”

“Something like that,” Shiro mutters, wincing at the dull throb around his temple where a bruise is no doubt beginning to form.

As he clips his radio back onto his belt, he turns to the fence. At least now he knows that it does in fact have an end. So to speak. The fence stops once it reaches the cliff’s edge and curves sharply before continuing along the precipice, far out of view. A few yards from the cliff’s edge is the door, safely kept shut with a combination lock.

Shiro puts in the code 1-2-3-4 for the hell of it. Nothing.   
~~  
~~ “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he mumbles to himself before marking the fence on his map, still amazed at just how large the area is.

As Shiro treks back to his tower, he soon crests a hill and sees the lake sparkle through the foliage. He also spots a cache box nestled between some trees. Carefully side-stepping to avoid the slim brook trickling into lake, he spins the tumblers, releasing the lock with a satisfying click.  
  
Inside he finds two books, both in better condition than the comic he’d found in the previous cache. One appears to be a trashy romance novel, _Return of the Gladiator_. On the cover is a handsome, tan, well-built man, who looks like he’d been dunked in oil from the way he glistened in the sun, dressed in full roman gladiator regalia. Shiro sniggers. It looks just like something he’d seen his mother read, though she would vehemently deny it. The other is titled _The Fall of the Castle of Lions_ , apparently the fourth book in a medieval fantasy series.

He also finds a note, carefully tucked beneath a rock in the corner.

**6/16**

**J,**

**I really wish the powers-that-be could issue us radios that don’t suck ass. I don’t mind putting pen to paper, but every once in a while it’d be nice to get ahold of you right away. That being said, do you know what happened to the keys to the cave? Coran said he lost them but I don’t buy it.**

**– C**

There’s a gurgle low in his stomach, politely suggesting that he return to his tower for a much-needed meal. After slipping his newly acquired books and note into his pack, he lets the lid fall shut and reattaches the lock before heading to his tower.

Once inside, Shiro drops his pack next to the desk, striding to the cupboards to pull out the cookbook. He scans through the recipes for a bit before settling on spaghetti. He can make spaghetti … probably.

And so, he begins the arduous task of preparing dinner with only mild trepidation. As the water boils and the sauce bubbles, he takes a moment to look out the windows. The sun has already begun its descent behind violet mountains, casting a warm rosy glow about the room.

After finishing his dinner, Shiro cleans the dishes and changes into his night clothes, removing his prosthetic before brushing his teeth and turning out the lights. Soft beams of moonlight filter through windows, throwing eerie shadows across the cabin. As Shiro turns to the comfort of his bed, he sees a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he stares out the window into the darkness of the woods before shaking his head and crawling under the covers.   
  
_I probably just imagined it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close ... and yet ... so far. I can't wait until Shiro finally gets Keith's name this is killing me.


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the title change? I just used Meet Me in the Woods because I was listening to Lord Huron while I was working and couldn't come up with anything better. Though honestly anything is preferable to the original title: VoltwatchFiretron. Oh yes. It was that bad.

Shiro’s heart hammers against his ribs, pumping blood that thrums in his veins as he navigates the narrow passageways. It’s so cold.  So dark. A thunderous crack deafens him and he feels something warm and wet dripping down his face in thick rivulets. He tells himself it’s just sweat. But he knows better. The acrid scent of blood fills his nostrils. He gags.

Suddenly, a bright light envelopes him, followed by a searing heat. He can feel his flesh dripping off his body and he screams in helpless agony. He’s held down by hands, so many hands as he’s dragged down. Down into the darkness.

He jerks forward, sitting up in his bed, drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. With a trembling hand he combs the wet strands of hair from his sweaty forehead as he catches his breath. Slipping his hand beneath his pillow, he pulls out the magnum before stumbling over to the desk and grabbing the holster. He shoves both to the back of one of the cupboards, hiding it behind a few cans of spam - one of the few supplies he hopes he’ll never be desperate enough to use.

He slams the cupboard door harder than necessary and staggers back, leaning on the firefinder for support. After a few deep breaths, he steps over to the sink, turning knob with a trembling hand. As the cool water splashes across his clammy face, he begins to feel better, calmer.

Over the rush of running water, he hears Allura’s distinct voice on the radio.

“Shiro, are you awake? There are some things we need to discuss.”

He quickly twists the knob, wiping his dripping hand on his boxers as he plods over to the radio and plucks it from the cradle.

“I’m up,” he replies, rubbing his soaked face against the short sleeve of his night shirt.

“Good. I’m going to wake up Lance now. Cover your ears.”

“Cover my ears? Wh –”

His words are quickly cut off by the loud blaring of an airhorn and he drops his radio in surprise.

“What the hell?!”

“Sorry about that. Lance sleeps with earplugs in and I’ve had a devil of a time trying to wake him in the past. Something about needing his _‘10 hours’_. This is the only thing that works,” she explains. “Lance ... wake up!”

Two more short bursts and a long honk has Lance answering his radio with a yawn.

“Good morning everyone.”

“It’s 11:45,” Allura responds curtly.

“Yeah, still _technically_ morning,” Lance argues.

“Regardless of the time, I feel there’s something rather serious we should discuss,” she begins, her tone growing grave.  “In light of what happened to Shiro the other night, I feel that in addition to watching for fires we should all keep a close eye on any suspicious activity and be firmer about enforcing the parks rules.”

Shiro’s eye’s narrow slightly. “Isn’t that the Rangers’ jobs?”

“Consider yourselves promoted,” she says flatly.

“Do we get raises?” Lance asks.

“No.”

“Ok ok,” Lance concedes. “What kind of suspicious activity are we talking about? Cause I’ve been seeing people moving around the woods at night.”

Shiro’s brows shoot up. “Me too!”

“What sort of movement?” Allura asks with urgency.

“Just lights in the woods,” Shiro says.

“Oh, like flashlights?”

“Yeah, like someone out for an evening hike,” Lance adds.

“I see …” she says with a sigh and pauses for a beat before continuing. “I just don’t understand why they won’t stay at the designated campsite,” she huffs bitterly. “… It’s a very nice campsite,” she adds with a slight pout in her voice.

Shiro chuckles before asking, “Do you want us to stop them?”

“No, I don’t want you wandering around in the middle of the night chasing errant campers. Just report to me if you see anyone breaking the rules.”

Shiro frowns. He wasn’t aware there _were_ any rules beyond _‘don’t burn down the damn forest’._

“And those rules would be …?”

“No fireworks, no littering, no feeding the wildlife, no camping outside of designated areas, no hiking between the hours of 9pm and 6am,” Allura rattles on with one long breath,“No trespassing in restricted areas –”

“Restricted areas?” Shiro interrupts. “Like what?”

“Well, the caves for a start.”

Shiro lets a bitter huff slip past his lips.

_I have no problem with that._

“You can pass through it,” she continues, “But any further exploration is prohibited.”

Shiro’s inquisitive nature gets the better of him and he asks, “Why?”

“There was an … _incident_ … a few years back,” Allura says cautiously.

Shiro’s features twist into a perplexed frown. “What do you mean by ‘ _incident’_?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“About ten years ago, some hikers went into the caves but never came out. Several search parties were sent in after them, but even they started to go missing. Eventually the search was called off. The majority of the cave has since been gated off.”

“What about the fence?” Lance interjects. “Is that restricted?”

Shiro’s heart suddenly jumps into his throat.

“That _especially_ ,” Allura responds sternly.

A coil of nerves tightens low in Shiro’s gut as he asks, “Why? What’s in there?”

There is a significant stretch of silence before Allura answers in a clipped tone, “It’s a government camp that is studying wildlife in the area. It is imperative that their research remain undisturbed.”

“Good thing you caught that guy when you did huh?” Lance chimes in.

Shiro winces, eyes squeezing shut.

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, Shiro caught the guy who broke into his tower trying to break through the fence.”

“ _What?!_ ” Allura’s scandalized voice cries out. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I uh … I forgot,” Shiro fibs. “But I got rid of him. He won’t be coming back.”

_I hope._

“Well …” Allura trails off, disappointment evident in her voice. “Next time report any illegal or suspicious activity back to me as soon as possible, no matter how trivial. Understood?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Shiro drops radio back into its cradle and rubs the back of his neck. Pushing worrisome thoughts to the back of his mind, he gets to work on making breakfast. How hard can pancakes be?

 

Okay, plenty hard as it turns out. Luckily, his taste-buds died during basic training, and he shovels the charred, cakey mess into his mouth with only the occasional grimace. After washing up and dressing, he turns his attention to the papers on his desk - the beginnings of the article he promised to write.

For now it's more like a diary, a description of his experiences. At least he won't have to worry about sucking the readers in, that first day was a hell of a ride, and his second day wasn’t exactly devoid of excitement either.

The soft scraping of lead on paper fills the room as he writes about the events of yesterday. He writes about the horrific state of his cabin and subsequent cleaning crusade. He writes about the Holt's and the fence. He writes about the boy. He writes about the boy a lot.

He only realizes just  _how much_ he's dedicated to him when he looks over the several pages detailing their exchange. After re-reading his notes, Shiro realizes, with some embarrassment, that he has described the boy as _‘pretty in a handsome kind of way’_ , his voice as having a _‘slightly husky quality’_ , his fingers as _‘long and deft’_ ,  his body as both _‘panther-like’_ and _‘all muscle and speed’_ and called attention to the _‘fiery intensity’_ of his eyes at least three times.

The pencil slips from between Shiro’s fingers as they scrub his face. He needs a break.

With a huff, he pushes away from the desk, causing the legs of his chair to screech in protest. He peruses the books on his shelf, left behind by the previous lookout. The first book he pulls from the shelf is _Tears of the Balmera_ , which appears to be about the natives that lived in the area before it was turned into a national park. The next one, _Return to the Balmera,_ is about a wildfire that nearly destroyed the entire park and what was done to preserve the remainder. The final book, _Taking flight,_ seems to be a bird watching guide.

Shiro’s fingers skim across the spines of the other books he’s collected before settling on the comic and plucking it from the shelf. He could use some good old-fashioned mindless entertainment. Flopping on the bed, he begins to flip through the pages, hoping it will take his mind off things. It works … for a while. But the words soon blur together and the brightly hued panels distort in a kaleidoscope of color.

With a heavy sigh, he lets the comic slip from his fingers and onto his chest. As his gaze drifts around the cabin it falls on the radio and Shiro's conscience prods at him. He briefly considers telling Allura what happened when images of large pleading eyes invade the forefront of his mind. Tearing his gaze from the radio, he stares at the ceiling, drowning in his thoughts.  
  
_I just wanted to … get away … from everything.  
_  
Shiro’s eyes narrow, following dust particles as they float around the room.  
  
_‘Everything’_ is pretty vague. Too vague.

His brows crease with thought.

The boy was obviously running away from something or someone. The cops maybe? Now there’s a harrowing thought. That kid could be a murder for all he knows!  
  
With a frown, Shiro eyes screw shut as he thinks back to the events of the previous evening. ~~  
  
~~ No … that doesn’t seem quite right. Nothing about the guy really screamed _‘killer’_. During their fight the other man could have easily reached for his knife if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead he stuck with his fists, which were pretty impressive in their own right. Shiro’s sore ribs and bruised eye are a testament to that. ~~~~

He rubs his temple with slight smirk.

Despite his size, the kid sure packed one hell of a punch. That’s for sure.

_I wonder where he learned to fight._

Despite his flaws the guy was a decent fighter, relying more on speed than overwhelming strength or skill to take down his enemies. He’s obviously full of potential. With proper training, he could become quite a formidable opponent, though Shiro can’t see him opening up to anyone anytime soon. He seemed pretty skittish, like he was just waiting for Shiro to snap and start waling on him. Of course, that could have just been due to their difference in size, a difference that had been pointed out with an unnecessarily rude and _completely_ inaccurate comparison.

Shiro’s lower lip juts out in a childish pout and his brows draw together at the memory.

The young man certainly had a mouth on him that’s for damn sure. Even when getting scolded he didn’t back down.

A short huff of a laugh slips pass Shiro’s lips and he allows himself to feel impressed. However, his smirk falters as he recalls how quickly the boy’s fiery defiance melted into suspicion and wide eyed fear.

At the end of the day, he was still running away from something … but what, or who?

A new worry begins to gnaw at the back of Shiro’s mind as he wonders if the boy got back to his campsite safely, assuming he had a campsite. Probably not the official one from what the kid said. Would he really be ok out here by himself? What if he gets attacked by bears?

Shiro shakes his head. He’s getting nowhere with all this speculation. He turns his gaze away from the ceiling and spots the stereo under the desk. Guilt settles in his stomach like molten lead. The boy was right about one thing, he _did_ steal the stereo. In a juvenile attempt at blackmail no less. Shiro groans at the memory, scrubbing his hand over his face.

He didn’t even get the guy’s name.

“This is ridiculous!” Shiro huffs, giving his cheek a few smacks. “I’m just gonna have to find him.”

Filled with determination, Shiro grabs the stereo, shoving it into his pack before heading out the door.  As he plods down the stairs, he belatedly realizes it might be hard to find the other man in the middle of the goddamn woods. However, he’s too resolved to stop now and begins his trek.

\--------------------

With a sigh, Shiro wipes the sweat from his hairline, knocking his hat back to rest at his neck as he watches the sun kiss the peaks of distant mountains. Although it’s late in the day, it’s still plenty hot and Shiro wonders if the other man might return to the lake to cool down. Having nothing else to go off of, he heads westward.

He carefully winds down the path, optimism bubbling in his chest when he hears splashing in the distance. As he pushes past the brush, he’s relieved to find his hunch paid off, pausing to watch as the young man wades along the shore. The sun shimmers and dances across the surface of the water, dappling the boy's face with light.  
  
“Hey there!” Shiro calls out cheerfully.

The other man spins in a panic, taking a few steps back deeper into the lake before he begins to turn to run.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Shiro pleads, arm outstretched. “I brought something for you!”

The boy freezes mid stride and watches Shiro carefully, his face lighting up as the older man pulls the stereo from his pack.

“That’s -”

“Yeah I … I wanna apologize for taking it,” Shiro says sheepishly. “I was pissed but ...  that’s not a good reason for being an asshole … sorry.”

He holds the stereo out at arm’s length.

“Well …” the younger man hums, considering Shiro for a moment before accepting the stereo with a small smile that catches Shiro off guard. “People have been assholes over less.”

As Shiro stares, he quickly notices the large crescent shaped bruise forming around the other man’s eye and grimaces.

“And I’m sorry about the uh…” Shiro taps at his temple, guiltily breaking eye contact.

“Huh? Oh. Don’t sweat it. You’re not the first person to take a swing at me,” he scoffs.

His lackadaisical attitude toward the injury and violence in general does little to lessen Shiro’s remorse. As Shiro rubs the back of his neck uneasily, his eyes flick up to meet the boy’s, brows knitting together with concern.

Seeing this, the other man’s derisive smirk softens. “… But you are the first to apologize for it … thanks.”

This satisfies Shiro, and his troubled frown morphs into a lopsided grin. The air is suddenly filled with a heavy, awkward, silence and the younger man shifts uncomfortably while Shiro wracks his brain for something to talk about, anything that’ll keep the other man around.

“Well … bye …” the boy mumbles and he grabs his shoes and begins to walk past Shiro toward the trail.

“Wait!” Shiro’s arms fly out, as he throws himself in the other’s path, effectively blocking him from leaving.

The younger man immediately stiffens, taking a defensive posture.

“I uh … didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself,” Shiro fumbles, thrusting his arm out awkwardly. “I’m Shiro.”

The other man flinches at the sudden movement and glances at Shiro’s hand with trepidation. Shiro follows the man’s gaze to his prosthetic and he feels his stomach sink, practically wilting under the other’s intense stare. Noticing the abrupt change in Shiro’s demeanor, the boy reaches forward, firmly gripping Shiro’s hand and looking him in the eye.

“Keith.”

“Just Keith?” Shiro asks, internally sighing with relief.

“Just Shiro?” Keith retorts.

“Touché.”

Keith releases Shiro’s hand and bites his lip, eyes darting around before settling on Shiro’s smiling face.

“I should probably go … it’s getting dark.”

“Oh right, of course.” Shiro steps aside, letting Keith pass by and quickly head up the trail.

“See you around?” Shiro calls out optimistically.

“I hope not,” Keith dryly shouts back over his shoulder.

A low chuckle slips past Shiro’s lips as he watches Keith disappear down the path. Once Keith is out of sight, Shiro rubs his hand across his mouth and chin thoughtfully.

He didn’t really find out anything more about Keith other than his name, but he did break the ice, and he decides to count that as progress. The corners of his mouth tug upward as he thinks about the possibility of seeing Keith again, imagining the possible snarky responses he might elicit from the other man.

“He may be stubborn …” Shiro says to himself, face splitting into a grin. “But so am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank GOD that’s done. Do you know how hard it is to keep referring about someone without using their name? It’s hard as hell. Anyway, we can now start getting to the good stuff: °˖✧relationship development✧˖°
> 
> Also, thanks for all he kudos and comments! It really encourages me to post more. ╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )╯


	5. Day 4

Iridescent bubbles swirl around in bottom of the pan as Shiro scrubs away the remains of his lunch and begins to devise a plan to _‘run into’_ Keith again. As Shiro dries the pan he catches his reflection, stopping a moment to stare before pulling back with a grimace. Running his fingers across the prickly beginnings of a beard, his eyes dart from his unkempt hair to the dark bags under his eyes. He looks like a goddamn hobo. If this is what Keith saw every time they met, no wonder he always tried to run.

Rooting through his drawer, Shiro pulls out a razor and gets to work. It’s a bit difficult, but he makes do, propping up the now clean pan and using it as makeshift mirror.

After quickly shaving, he combs his fingers through his fringe, wetting his hand to flatten the shorter hairs in the back. He tugs at his uniform, smoothing down the material until his appearance is presentable. Now that he no longer looks like a wildman, he grabs his pack and eagerly descends the stairs.

As he makes way down one of the well-worn trails, he hears a familiar voice over the radio.

“Hey uh, I don’t see you in your tower. Why aren’t you at your post?” Lance scolds.

“I got bored. I’m allowed to get bored,” Shiro says, vaulting over a log. “Also, didn’t your mother ever tell you not to spy on your neighbors?”

“I don’t _spy_ ,” Lance says indignantly, “I _observe_.”

“Oh, _well_ , that makes it alright then.” Shiro rolls his eyes and continues down the trail in search of Keith.

Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Shiro gazes up through the trees as the sun’s rays filter through the foliage. He blinks rapidly at the light spots imprinted on his retina as he treks through the meadow to the lake. Disappointed, but not altogether surprised, Shiro scans the lake for any sign of the other man, to no avail. His gaze strays to the path leading up to the fence and his eyes narrow.

“If he’s up there,” Shiro grumbles to himself, “He better not be.”

Squaring his shoulders, Shiro heads up the trail with a steely look in his eyes.

Sure enough, he hears the telltale rattle and follows the noise to Keith. This time he’s given up on breaking the door in favor of climbing over it, with similar success. Shiro crosses his arms across his chest and his face pinches into a scowl.

“Hello Keith, it’s been a while.”

Keith quickly glares over his shoulder, body tense but unmoving.

“Less than 24 hours,” he quips, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing here? Got nothing better to do?”

“I was out doing my rounds when I saw you around the very off-limits fence,” Shiro fibs, deciding that Keith doesn’t need to know that he had been actively looking for him. At least not yet.

“… So?”

“Come on Keith!” Shiro groans. “I’m sticking my neck out for you, the least you can do is follow _some_ of the rules.”

There’s a brief pause as Keith considers his words before rolling his eyes with a huff. “Fine.”

The metal rattles as he jumps down and shoves his hands into his pockets, shooting Shiro a disgruntled glower.

“Also, I … _kinda_ told my boss you were gone,” Shiro continues.

Keith grimaces. “Uh oh.”

“Yeah. _Uh oh_. So I’d appreciate it if you kept a low profile.”

“I will … thanks,” Keith sheepishly tucks a stray hair behind his ear and toes at the ground, having the decency to at least _look_ a little bit remorseful.

However, it doesn’t take long for Keith’s trepidation to fade as he peeks up at Shiro through thick bangs, cocking an eyebrow.

“What’s in there anyway?” He asks, jerking his head in the direction of the fence.

“Nothing for you. ‘Cmon, scoot,” Shiro orders, waving Keith back toward the lake.

“Don’t know? Or just won’t tell me?” There’s a teasing lilt in Keith’s voice as he walks backwards to the lake, with Shiro following closely.

“It’s just biologists ok? Boring science stuff, you wouldn’t be interested.”

“How would you know what interests me?” Keith retorts. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“… I’d like to know,” Shiro says earnestly.

That seems to take Keith aback. It was obviously not the answer he was expecting. He suddenly twists around, facing away from Shiro and picking up his pace. Shiro isn’t quite sure, but he would swear the boy’s ears turned pink.

He grins. If it’s this easy to wind Keith up he might have to do it more often.

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me?” Shiro presses.

“Tell you what?”

“About you.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you care anyway?” Keith peeks over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“I’m just curious … is it a crime to have a healthy sense of curiosity?” Shiro says playfully.

Keith snorts and shakes his head.

“Hag always said I’d meet someone who’d give me a taste of my own medicine,” he mutters with a half-smile.

“You’re not answering me,” Shiro sing-songs behind him.

Keith glances over his shoulder and gives Shiro the stink eye.

“I’ll go first.” Shiro clears his throat. “I’m Takashi Shirogane. My favorite color is Violet. I like Ferris Wheels and Smooth Jazz. I enjoy reading and –”

“– And you love long walks on the beach. Yeah, yeah,” Keith drawls as he spins on his heel to face Shiro again, the rocky shore of the lake crunching beneath his feet. 

There’s an amused smile furtively tugging at the corner of Keith’s mouth, but he manages to turn it into a derisive smirk.

“Alright, your turn,” Shiro says.

Keith rolls his eyes before acquiescing with a sigh.

“I’m Keith – _just_ Keith,” he quickly adds before Shiro can comment. “Red, Rollercoasters, Rock … climbing fences …”

Shiro quirks a brow at that.

“… Aaaaaand long walks on the beach,” Keith concludes with a smirk.

Shiro snorts.

“Now, if you’re done with the 3rd degree can I go?”  Keith huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Of course. I’ll walk you back to your camp,” Shiro offers, taking a step closer.

“Uh, no thanks big guy,” Keith chuckles tensely and presses a hand to Shiro’s chest, barely covering the mass of muscle with his long slim fingers as he gently pushes him away. “I think I can handle it by myself.”

Shiro steps back, ignoring the warmth spreading across his chest as he shrugs. “Well if you need anything you know where to find me.”

“What would I need from you?” Keith scoffs.

A smirk tugs at Shiro’s lips. “Oh _well_ , you never know when you may need a cup of sugar or …” he trails off, hand moving to rub the back of his neck. “Or if you just want to … you know … talk.”

The snide expression on Keith’s face softens slightly at that.

“Just be careful,” Shiro adds quickly, “I have a nosey neighbor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Keith says as he turns down the trail, subtly glancing over his shoulder before disappearing from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing dialog between these two, especially when I can explore Keith's playful side. I just wish we could see it more often on the show. @Dreamworks let Keith have fun you cowards (*`д´*)ノ


	6. Day 8

Keith stands in the middle of the meadow, arm shadowing his eyes as he glares at the sun hanging above him. The rays are too oppressive to endure, forcing him to seek shelter in the shade of some trees dotting the border of the field.

He removed his cap and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, brushing aside the sweat-dampened hair. After briefly fanning himself with the hat he tosses it to the ground, closely followed by his jacket which he collapses onto with a groan. His nose wrinkles as the dry, yellowed grass pokes his sides and tickles his face and neck. He wriggles from side to side for a moment before pulling a pencil and a worn notebook out of his bag. Keith holds the pencil between his teeth as he flips through several pages.

He holds the book at arms-length above his head with a frown. Cocking his head, he tilts the book a few times before letting it fall on his face, arms flopping angrily to the side.  After spitting the pencil from his mouth, he sighs in frustration, an adorable pout pulling at his lips.

Sleep slowly drapes over him like a lead curtain as the wind rustles through the grass, cooling his sun kissed skin.

A twig snaps in the distance and Keith jerks forward, quickly shoving his notebook into his bag. He turns to the source of the sound, relaxing slightly when he recognizes Shiro. Bits of Keith’s hair stick up in awkward directions and he tries, unsuccessfully, to smash them down. Shiro finds it quite endearing, but says nothing.

“Oh, it’s just you Shithouse,” Keith mutters. ~~~~

“That’s not my name.” Shiro pouts. ~~~~

Keith just rolls his eyes and opens his notebook again. “Yeah, whatever Robocop.”

“Robocop? O-oh …” Shiro rubs his prosthetic self-consciously.

“Or should I say robo- _ranger_?” Keith quips, tapping his pencil to his cheek.

“I would prefer neither actually.”

“What do you want Shiro?” Keith says with an aggravated sigh.

Shiro decides it’s best not to mention that he had been actively looking for Keith and instead offers a casual shrug. “I was just out for a walk and I saw you –”

“And what,” Keith interrupts. “You just thought to yourself _‘Gee, why don’t I go up and bother Keith? I’m sure he isn’t busy or anything!’_ ” He says in mockingly chipper voice.

Shiro cocks an eyebrow but chooses to overlook Keith’s rudeness. “That about sums it up.”

“Well, as you can see I actually am busy,” he waves the notebook around for emphasis. “So, if you don’t mind …”

Keith turns away from Shiro and begins jotting something in the margins of the already full pages. Brimming with curiosity, Shiro comes up behind him and peek over his shoulder. From what he can see, the pages seem to be filled mostly with illegible jibberish. A with few mismatched sheets have been taped alongside the lined notepaper, though these are far easier to read despite being smudged and faded. They look like letters.

“So … what are you writing?” Shiro inquires, nodding his head at the notebook.

Keith slams it shut and glowers at him, leaning away slightly. Immediately, Shiro backs away and offers a warm smile in apology. With narrowed eyes fixed on Shiro, Keith cracks the book open and resumes his scribbling.

Undeterred, Shiro continues his persistent attempts at conversation. “Which do you think is faster, writing by hand or typing?”

Only the sound of lead scrawling across paper answers him, but still he presses.

“I only ask because I’m a writer and –”

“Ooooooh that’s what you’re up here for,” Keith interrupts with mock realization lacing his voice.

Shiro’s brows furrow and he cocks his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re one of those pseudo-intellectuals who run off to the woods to live in solitude and write crappy poetry or fake deep novels about how sensitive you are and how no one understands you,” Keith says matter-of-factly.

Shiro stares at him with an unamused expression.

“Am I close?”

“Not even.”

Keith just rolls his eyes. “ _Please_ , no one comes out to places like this for the fresh air and beautiful scenery. They come to forget or run away … usually both.”

“What are you running away from?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

Keith looks up from his writing and purses his lips as he squints at Shiro.  “… Guess.”

“What?” Shiro says with a half chuckle.

“You guess what my problem is and I’ll guess yours,” Keith explains, shoving his notebook into his bag and standing up.

A smirk tugs at Shiro’s lips.

_So that’s how it’s gonna be?_

“Ok, lemme think …”

Shiro rubs his chin thoughtfully as he studies the younger man, finally able to look him over in greater detail. As Keith places his hands on his slim hips, Shiro’s eyes follow the movement and his lips twitch with an aborted laugh.

Everything from Keith’s shirt and pants, to his fraying fingerless gloves and chipped nail polish are black. Even his hair is the same shade, with glossy ebony locks falling a few inches below his ears, the ends flipping out in all directions. It’s quite endearing. In a boyish sort of way.

The only things on him that aren’t black are a pair of scuffed, bright red high-tops, a thin golden necklace chain that disappears under his shirt, and green stud earrings that look suspiciously like alien heads.

Either Keith is the type of person who cares nothing for fashion, or the type who puts a lot of work into maintaining a pretentiously disheveled look. Though judging by the jacket tossed haphazardly on the ground and the twig poking out from Keith’s tousled mop, Shiro is inclined to assume the former.

Shiro’s gaze flicks up to Keith’s face. The first thing he sees is, of course, the ugly bruise marring Keith’s otherwise flawless complexion. It’s long since faded from a bright reddish-purple to a mottled yellow-brown.

Shiro’s face pinches as a new, unpleasant thought comes to mind.

Keith did say that Shiro wasn’t the first person to hit him. Adding to that his skittish behavior and unnerving apathy toward the injury makes Shiro wonder just how many times he’s taken a beating. And how many of them Keith had actually instigated.

As Shiro theorizes, his eyes meet Keith’s. They’re beautiful. Dark and intense, always watching, analyzing. But despite their current mischievous glint, there’s a deep-rooted tiredness behind them. A tiredness that Shiro sees in his own refection every day.

_I wonder if he has nightmares too._

Pushing that thought aside, his eyes dart to Keith’s bag lying on the ground. Like most of Keith’s things it’s on the weathered side, possibly a hand-me-down just based on the older design. It’s large for a messenger bag, but hardly big enough to carry all the equipment Keith would need for camping. In fact, he hasn’t seen Keith wear anything different since the day they met.

Shiro’s brows draw together as he scans Keith again.

From his all black ensemble to his worn high-tops it is painfully obvious that Keith is ill prepared for a long summer in the woods. It’s like he’d just grabbed whatever he could and ran. All these observations only add to the theories Shiro had been agonizing over earlier. But now that he has the opportunity to test them, he finds himself wavering.

_I just wanted to get away … from everything._

Shiro closes his eyes.

It’s obvious that Keith has some demons he’s running away from. Demons he might not be ready to acknowledge just yet – something Shiro can empathize with.

“C’mon, I don’t got all day.”

A smile tugs at Shiro’s lips as he squints.

“You are … a _serial killer_. And you’re just out here until heat dies down then you’ll kill again,” he says, flashing Keith a toothy grin.

Keith’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he smirks. “Nice try Will Graham, but wrong. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh boy,” Shiro chuckles.

“Let’s see …”

Keith hums thoughtfully before staring at Shiro with an intensity that would make lesser men shrink.

“… You’re military.”

It’s a statement. Not a question. Not a doubt in his mind.

The declaration so sudden and jarring that it catches Shiro off guard, making his smile falter. His mind flashes to the scars littering his body and, more obviously, his prosthetic arm.

“What gave me away?” He chuckles darkly, rubbing where scarred flesh meets plastic through the fabric of his shirt.

“The way you walk and carry yourself,” Keith says plainly. “The Gen– … My grandfather walks just like you. Dad too.”

“A military brat huh?”

Keith just shrugs and continues his inquiry. “What did you do?”

“Fighter pilot.”

“How many missions?”

“Just the one,” Shiro confesses with a bitter smile.

Keith frowns, his eyes darting across Shiro’s face.

“… Why?”

The tentativeness of the question takes Shiro aback. Keith is normally so abrasive and distant. His sudden concern seems almost foreign, although not unwelcome.

“They don’t really want a pilot with a busted flipper,” Shiro explains, lifting his prosthetic arm for emphasis.

“That’s such bullshit!” Keith snaps, surprising Shiro yet again. “They ship you off to god knows where, get you all fucked up, and then drop you when you’re no longer useful to them? Fuck that!”

Keith is now fuming, and Shiro can’t help but chuckle cynically at the outburst.

“Tell me about it,” he huffs, words dripping from his lips like acid. “They just pin a medal on you, spew some patriotic tripe about honor and freedom, then pat themselves on the back for a job well done.”

Once Shiro realizes what he just said, he blanches. He’s never talked like this before. Sure he’s _thought_ it but, never actually said it. Not to his family. Not to his therapist. No one.

Ashamed, he looks away.

“S-sorry … that was …” he trails off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

Normally he was the guy who always said the right thing at the right time. Never a discouraging word. A regular Golden Boy. What changed? Why now? ~~~~

Keith just shakes his head dismissively.

“Don’t be … I know how hard it is,” he says, voice growing soft.

The crease between Shiro’s brow deepens as his gaze returns to Keith.

“You do?”

“It was the same with my dad,” Keith says. “He goes off to who-the-fuck-knows and comes back one leg down and nothing but a lousy case of PTSD to show for it.”

Keith’s feature twist into a frown, his posture growing tight and guarded as he recedes into his turbulent thoughts.

“… I’m sor–”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Keith says sharply. “I don’t want your pity.”

“… It’s not pity” Shiro says, calm and sincere.

Keith stares at Shiro, sharp eyes studying him carefully, like he’s testing for any trace of a lie.

“What was it like … with your dad?” Shiro asks gently.

Keith considers Shiro for a moment before looking off into the distance, thinking carefully.

“He tried to hide it. Tried to make like everything was ok. But it wasn’t. I could see that,” Keith murmurs, his voice growing low and tight as his hands shift into what appears to be a self-hug. “It was hardest when he’d just withdraw … shut down.”

Shiro nods in understanding, gaze dropping to his hands. His flesh fingers unconsciously rub across the knuckles of his prosthetic, a self-soothing gesture he’d retained despite the loss of the limb. He recalls the countless times he just shut down on his family, pulling away from their well-meaning, but suffocating attempts at helping him. ~~~~

“He went to therapy, so that helped I guess. At least … I think he went to therapy …” Keith’s lips pull into a pensive frown. “I’m not really sure … I wasn’t around him a whole lot.”

Shiro’s brows press together as he looks up. “What do you mean?”

Keith shifts uncomfortably, obviously wavering on whether or not he wants to talk about it. Noticing this, Shiro puts up his hand in placating manner, having learned from his previous attempts at grilling Keith for information.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he says softly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

For a moment, Keith contemplates Shiro’s words before shaking his head.

“No, it’s fine. I made you talk about your shit. It’s only fair that I tell you mine.”

“You don’t –”

“I want to,” he says firmly, eyes now steely with determination.

With that, Shiro presses his lips together and allows Keith to speak.

“When I was around five my dad couldn’t really take care of me anymore, so he gave me to my grandparents while he enlisted. They agreed to take me in on the condition he would have very little contact with me and that they could raise me as they saw fit. Even after he was discharged I only saw him during the summers.”

Shiro’s mouth begins to form the words _I’m sorry_ but he quickly stops himself. “What did you do together?”

For a moment, Keith hesitates.

“Oh, you know … hiking, camping, stuff like that … it was fun,” he reminisces with a bittersweet smile, growing more confident the more he speaks. “But my favorite thing to do was look at the stars. He knew all the constellations by heart.”

The fondness in Keith’s voice brings a soft smile to Shiro’s face. “He sounds great.”

“… Yeah …” Keith trails off as his tone turns soft and somber. “… I should go.” ~~~~

As Keith turns to grab his things Shiro’s face grows pained. He doesn’t want Keith to leave. Not like this.

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head.

“Wait!”

With wide eyes, Keith’s head snaps in Shiro’s direction.

“I … I want to show you something,” Shiro says quickly, looking to the horizon where the sun dances across the tips of the trees as it begins its descent behind far-off peaks.

Keith eyes him warily. “What?”

“It’s a surprise,” Shiro grins. “Follow me,” he jerks his head to the side and starts to walk away.

But Keith just stares at his back with narrowed eyes and doesn’t move.

“… Why?”

Shiro stops in his tracks and turns to the young man staring at him with suspicion.

He knows it isn’t just one question, not really. It’s a whole slew of them. _Why should I follow you? Why should I trust you? Why are you wasting your time on me?_

Shiro huffs out a short laugh, shaking his head with a smile. “Just trust me.”

Keith’s eyes dart across Shiro’s face, searching, analyzing, while the older man patiently waits for his response, not fully realizing the importance of his words.

“… Fine.” Keith sighs, dusting off the seat of his pants before grabbing his things and following Shiro.

\--------------------

“I found this spot while out hiking,” Shiro explains as they hop down the rocky terrain leading to the canyon rock bridge.

Shiro offers his hand in support, which Keith completely ignores.

“I thought –”

_It might cheer you up._

Shiro shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“I thought it was pretty so –” he grunts as he lands from a particularly steep drop, “I wanted to show it to you.”

Keith’s brows shoot up, seemingly surprised Shiro’s admission. But he quickly schools his features into something a bit more apathetic. Undeterred by Keith’s indifference, Shiro leads on. His soft smile morphs into a grin as he steps across the makeshift bridge and gestures majestically toward the sunset.

“Ta-daaa!”

The canyon is awash with a soft amber glow as the sun sinks slowly behind the horizon. A few stars are already making their presence known, twinkling dimly as they compete with the fading sun. Around them, the rock walls radiate heat, providing soothing warmth against the growing chill of evening.

Keith’s eyes widen slightly as he moves to stand beside Shiro, hands on his hips and head cocked.  A slight smile pulls at the corners of Keith’s lips as he takes in the view. Shiro sits down on a board he’d laid across the rock bridge earlier and pats the wood invitingly. Keith raises an eyebrow before joining him on the makeshift bridge, swinging his legs to dangle over the side.

Shiro nervously observes the younger man out of the corner of his eye, unsure if the he even appreciates the gesture. Beside him, Keith is quiet, and the fading sunlight casts a soft golden glow on his impassive face as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. Shiro’s eyes follow the movement, biting back a chuckle as the fading light reflects off Keith’s earrings.

_Yep, definitely aliens._

Shiro smiles, both unable and unwilling to tear his gaze from Keith’s face. Now that he’s closer, he can see a smattering of light freckles dusting Keith’s cheeks and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

At least he’s not trying to leave, which Shiro counts as victory.

Thankfully, the soothing babble of the creek below them fills in the silence, negating any need for awkward conversation. When the sun is nothing more than a golden haze over the darkening horizon, Keith lazily rises, stretching and popping his back noisily.

“Well, I should get going before I turn into a pumpkin,” he says with a relaxed smile on his face.

“Yeah …” Shiro reluctantly agrees, watching Keith head toward wherever it is he goes after their run-ins.

A disappointed frown starts to form on Shiro’s face. He wanted to spend more time together. Doing what exactly, he has no idea.

“Hey, Shiro?”

The older man’s head jerks in attention, fully focused of the man before him.

“Thanks ... this was … nice.”

Shiro smiles with relief.

“I’m glad you liked it … See you around?” Shiro asks, tentative optimism evident in his voice.

A slight smirk pulls at Keith’s lips. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma level with ya'll ... I'm dumb. Dumb as a bag of bricks. I don't really know how the military works or if what I wrote is %100 accurate. I just wrote this for funsies, so keep that in mind.
> 
> Also, YAY! Relationship development! Bonding! Because there's nothing like trauma to bring two people together. How romantic :')


	7. Day 11

With a groan, Shiro drops onto a large rock by the lake, sighing in relief when his sore feet dip into the sparkling water. He’d been hiking all day in the hope of running into Keith with no luck. Another groan slips past his lips as he lies back, bumping his hat up to cover his eyes. He tucks his left hand beneath his head with the other resting on his stomach, as he ponders where to search next. ~~~~

Behind him, he hears the crunch of dry grass and the rustling of branches. He sits up, smiling when Keith emerges from the brush.

“Hey,” Keith calls out casually, tossing his bag beside Shiro’s pack.

“There you are! I was looking everywhere for you, my feet are killing me,” Shiro whines, no longer holding onto the pretense of their meetings being random happenstance. ~~~~

A look of surprise flashes briefly across Keith’s face and his cheeks flush slightly, but it passes before Shiro can truly appreciate it. ~~~~

“That _is_ a problem,” Keith hums, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he yanks off his shoes and socks. “Especially considering what little success you’ve had finding me so far.”

“I’m serious,” Shiro pouts. “You know where to find me but, I never know where you are. What if a fire breaks out? How am I supposed to find you?”

“Smoke signals?” Keith offers, settling next to Shiro and dipping his now naked feet into the cool clear water.

“Very funny,” Shiro says flatly. “My sides are splitting.”

Keith smirks and lays back, hands cradling his head. Beside him, Shiro narrows his eyes and purses his lips as he wracks his brain for a solution. Then: light bulb.

“I’ve got it!” He beams, turning to Keith.

“Hit me,” the younger man mumbles, lacking Shiro’s enthusiasm.

“I have this supply cache a little ways from my tower. We can leave each other notes!”

He grins at Keith who slowly rises onto his elbows and shoots Shiro a condescending look.

“Brilliant idea, just one problem, those things are always locked.”

“Yeah, but that’s an easy fix. The code is 1234. That’s the code for all of them actually.” ~~~~

Keith stares at Shiro with a look of wide eyed bewilderment.

“I don’t know what’s more baffling, the fact that the code to _all_ of the boxes is _1-2-3-4_ … or that you just gave the code away to a complete stranger.” ~~~~

Shiro’s brows draw together and a confused frown tugs at his lips.

“You’re not a stranger. _Strange_ definitely,” he adds teasingly. “But not a stranger.”

Shiro’s sudden display of trust takes Keith by surprise and he fumbles for a comeback.

“People like you answer e-mails from fake princes in Nigeria,” Keith mumbles into his palm as he tries to hide both the smile and blush creeping across his face.

“He seemed so sincere!” Shiro whines loudly, peeking at Keith out of the corner of his eye.

Keith rolls his eyes but can’t help the chuckle that slips past his lips. As he looks back to Shiro, his eyes drift to his prosthetic and Shiro squirms under the scrutinizing gaze.

“How much range of motion do you have?” Keith asks, tilting his head like an inquisitive puppy as he studies Shiro’s arm.

Shiro rubs at the knuckles of his prosthetic uneasily. He’s used to people staring. Asking questions. Poking. Prodding. He knows they don’t do it out of malice, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like an exotic animal in a cage.

And yet there’s something about Keith’s innocent curiosity that has his apprehension slowly melting away.

Hesitantly, Shiro lifts his forearm up and down in slow smooth increments. The internal motor whirrs softly. Next, he rotates the wrist before bringing his fingers and thumb together in a claw-like pinching motion.

Intrigued, Keith reaches out but quickly stops himself, peering up at Shiro for permission. The older man nods with a tight smile. For just a moment, Shiro can almost feel the warmth of Keith’s fingers bleeding into skin that no longer exists, causing goose-bumps to prickle across his very real flesh. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him with care, let alone the kind of reverence Keith seems to display.

As Keith skims his fingers across Shiro’s prosthetic he takes a breath only to hastily snap his mouth shut. It’s too late though. Shiro already knows what he wanted to ask. What everyone asks.  Shiro licks his lips in preparation, swallowing around the lump in his throat before answering the unspoken question.

“I lost it when my jet crashed,” he says tightly, focusing more on the words than the memories behind them. “I only survived because the heat from the explosion cauterized my wounds, otherwise I would have bled to death.”

The pained look in Keith’s eyes makes Shiro’s chest tighten. He forces his lips into a tense smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ~~~~

“The doctor said I was … _lucky._ ” Shiro tries to keep the bitterness from seeping into his words but fails miserably.

“They said the same thing to my dad,” Keith hums, shifting his attention back to the prosthetic.

When Keith moves his fingers to brush along the inside of Shiro’s wrist, where hard plastic meets the rubber-like material that makes up his hand, Shiro nearly jerks away, desperate to keep Keith from feeling the sudden flutter of his pulse. Then he remembers … there is no skin. No pulse beneath it. Nothing to betray the wild beating of his heart. And for once … he’s thankful for it.

“A grenade fell through the gunner’s hatch of his tank and exploded,” Keith continues solemnly. “It shattered his leg below the knee.”

Shiro grimaces with sympathy but is quickly distracted by Keith’s fingers as they trace abstract shapes against his wrist. Despite being unable to actually feel it, Shiro begins to find the motion soothing. It’s nice to be touched by someone who doesn’t find his prosthetic disconcerting. Even his own family members were often unnerved by the sight of it, leading Shiro to purchase a closet full of oversized sweaters and loose hoodies.

Shiro’s attention is diverted from his melancholy thoughts when he notices a nostalgic smile tug at the corner of Keith’s mouth.

“You know … my dad once told me that the worst thing about losing his leg was losing his tattoo.”

A surprised huff of a laugh escapes Shiro’s lips at the absurdity of the comment. “Are you serious?”

“He didn’t pay for his leg!” Keith argues, causing another laugh to bubble in Shiro’s chest. “When I was a kid I actually felt pretty bad for him and ended up drawing him a new one.”

“How old were you?”

Keith squints. “Around ten?”

“Oh boy,” Shiro chuckles.

“Yeeaaah it was pretty bad.” Keith winces at the memory.

 Pulling his left leg from the lake, Keith begins to roll the hem of his pants up to his knee. “It was supposed to look something like this, but …”

Keith leans to the side, twisting and lifting his leg for Shiro’s inspection. Shiro’s gaze travels slowly down the length of Keith’s lean leg before settling on the tattoo on his calf. It’s of a UFO beaming up a prone person set inside a diamond shaped border around which are quotes he vaguely recognizes.

_The truth is out there and so are lies. Trust no one._

Shiro squints, tilting his head as he tries to remember where he’d heard them before.

“That’s from something right?”

“The X-Files. You ever watch it?” Keith asks, retracting his leg and dunking it back into the water with a splash.

Shiro shrugs. “My parents were very strict about when and what we could watch TV and it was usually on when I had to do homework.”

Keith shakes his head with a smirk. “You were so deprived." 

Shiro leans over and gives Keith a playful bump on the shoulder, which Keith returns in kind. Keith looks up at Shiro through thick bangs and a mischievous smile creeps across his face.

Shiro cocks an eyebrow. “… What?”

“You know … I have the most terrible urge to do something impulsive.”

A small smirk plays on Shiro’s own features. “Oh, _well_ , you should always give into an urge, especially if it’s terrible.”

With a roguish smile, Keith leans in, causing Shiro’s smile to falter, his eyes widening at their closing proximity. When their faces are mere inches apart, Keith grins and snatches Shiro’s hat, tugging it down onto his own head before leaning back.

“Only you can prevent forest fires!” He bellows playfully, waggling his finger at his stunned companion.

Shiro laughs somewhat breathlessly, ignoring the sudden fluttering in his chest as he lifts the brim to look at Keith’s bright eyes.

“It looks good on you.”

“Oh yeah? … Might keep it,” the younger man teases.

“Go right ahead.”

“Wait, really?” Keith says, eyes wide.

“Sure, we can trade for the summer. You take my hat, and I’ll take your take yours,” Shiro offers, placing Keith’s cap on his own head.

Keith squints at him. “Is this a hostage situation?”

“Absolutely.”

Keith considers him for a moment, brows drawing tightly together. Shiro can almost see the gears turning in his head and he stifles a laugh.

“… Deal.” ~~~~

\--------------------

Once he’s back at his tower, Shiro places Keith’s hat on a nail by the door, taking time to examine it more carefully. Other than the red trim and bill it’s completely white, or at least it used to be, with age and wear leaving it more of a very pale beige. Emblazoned on the front is the old logo of the popular beer brand, _Red Lion_ , complete with the roaring head of the company’s mascot: a red lioness.

Red isn’t really Shiro’s color. He prefers more subdued hues. But it suits Keith perfectly, exuding feelings of excitement, danger, passion … love.

Shiro lifts his prosthetic arm, fingers retracing where Keith’s had been. ~~~~

He’d forgotten what it was like to be touched by someone lovingly, to simply revel in the closeness of another human being without feeling anxiety or fear of being rejected. He’d missed it. No. Missed isn’t quite the right word. Craved is more accurate. Like a man lost in the desert finally getting a taste of water, he wants more.

Shaking his head, Shiro pushes these desperate thoughts to back of mind and prepares for bed, slipping under the covers with a sigh. As sleep slowly enfolds him, he optimistically wonders what tomorrow will hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Oh my god kiss already  
> Also me: mmmmmm slowburn
> 
> Seriously though do other writers feel just as tortured by slowburns as the readers or is that just me? I'm starting to think about updating every day.There are enough chapters for it to take over a month to finish. What do you guys think?


	8. Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, because of your encouragement I've decided to update this every day! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! I read them all and squeal with delight. I want to respond to every comment but if I did I would never get this finished. (Besides, all my replies would probably just be some variation of 'SLD;FJSALFLDK THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!')
> 
> Also, to those who are curious the relationship development is going to take over for a while. That doesn't mean that there won't be any mystery, just that the hints won't be quite as blatant ;)
> 
> Also, also, this story was more inspired by Firewatch than directly copying it, so don't expect the ending to be the same. And believe me the ending is ... well let's just say it sure is something and leave it at that ;)))

_98_

_99_

_100_

With a sharp exhale, Shiro rises from his final pushup, dabbing the sweat from his hairline with an old hand towel.

He’d been neglecting his exercises since he’d arrived, which is understandable given recent events. Still, he’s glad to get back into a schedule, finding comfort in the semblance of control it gives him. Ever since Dr. Montgomery suggested he use exercise to help with anxiety, he’d done so religiously, with his brother often accusing him of overdoing it. After a while, even Dr. Montgomery had recommended he cut back a bit. But he couldn’t help it. It was one of the few things he could fully focus on, giving him a clear goal.

Next on his regimen are sit-ups. As he begins to get into position he’s interrupted by several soft plinks against his window. With wide, curious eyes, he steps over to the glass, beaming when he sees Keith smiling and waving at him from the tree line a few yards from the tower.  Shiro waves back, hastily getting dressed and grabbing his pack. In his rush, he nearly forgets Keith’s cap and must quickly backtrack, snatching the hat and tugging it onto his head.

“Hey! What’s up?” He calls out as he rapidly descends the tower steps.

“Remember what you said about never being able to find me?”

Shiro nods as he steps off the final stair.

Keith’s face splits into a grin. “Follow me.”

As Shiro closely walks beside him he has to bite back a laugh, for perched atop Keith’s head is that stupid Campaign Hat. Despite Shiro’s best attempts to disguise his amusement, Keith notices and shoots him a perplexed look.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh uh – nothing, nothing!” He smiles tightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with barely contained mirth.

Keith’s eyes narrow at the squirrely look on Shiro’s face and follow his gaze. “What? The hat?”

Shiro’s shoulders quake with a suppressed giggle.

Keith pouts, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I thought you said it looked good on me!”

A good-natured chuckle escapes Shiro’s lips and he ruffles the hat, making Keith’s head sway with the movement.  
  
“I think anything would look good on you,” he says earnestly.

Keith scowls and tugs the hat lower to the hide the blush crawling across his cheeks and ears as he stiffly blazes down the dusty trail. They’re almost to Arus Meadow when Keith veers off the well-worn path, approaching some of the thick bushes and unsheathing his knife.

“What are you –”

With a flick of his wrist, Keith slices through something, sending branches swinging aside to reveal a narrow path.

Shiro’s eyes widen and his brows shoot up.

“No wonder I couldn’t find you,” he says with a hint of amusement.

“I didn’t want to be found,” Keith reminds him, snapping the knife back into its sheath.

“What changed?” Shiro asks, barely hiding his hopeful tone.

Keith just shrugs and trudges down the trail before Shiro can notice the blush creeping across his face. The narrow path soon widens into a small meadow of tall, golden grass that tickles Shiro’s knees as he follows Keith in comfortable silence.

In the distance, near some trees, is a cache box sticking out like a sore thumb among its surrounding. Keith jogs over to it with an air of excitement. Shiro can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, sidling up beside him just as the lock falls to the ground. As Keith flings it open his eager smile falters and something in his eyes hardens. Frowning, Shiro follows Keith’s gaze to an old poster taped to the inside of the box lid.

 

**MISSING PERSON**

**NAME: Tyler Labine**

**AGE: 39**

**HEIGHT: 6′ 0″**

**WEIGHT: 165lbs.**

**HAIR: Short Brown**

**IDENTIYING FEATURES: Distinctive Facial Hair**

**GENERAL INFO: Tyler Labine was last seen around Mirror Lake on April 29, 2013. He was first reported missing on May 25, 2013 by forest service personnel. He is not known to be familiar with the area.**

 

“I wonder how many people go missing around here,” Shiro says.

“More than none, given how remote this area is,” Keith replies with a stoic coldness. “Bodies are rarely found.”

Shiro’s gaze drops from the poster to the contents of the box. It’s sparser than the others, containing only a few pine cones and a book which Shiro picks up. Flipping it over, he reads the description on the back.

 

_Blackout by_ _Sven Holgersson_

_What seems like just another missing person case turns into a murder investigation when Slav uncovers the latest victim of a serial killer whose handiwork stretches back over a decade._

 

Shiro peeks at Keith out of the corner of his eye, not failing to notice the dour look on the younger man’s face.

“You want it?” He offers weakly.

“No. I’ve read it before.”

This surprises Shiro, who begins to flip through the pages. It’s a pretty thick book, and the print is fairly small. Not something most casual readers would be drawn to.

“Is it any good?”

“The ending sucks,” Keith huffs, letting the lid of the cache fall with a thud before reattaching the lock. “The ‘ _big twist’_ is that the guy everyone thought was murdered actually just faked his own death.”

Shiro’s hands fly to cover his ears as his jaw drops in mock horror.

“Noooo! You spoiled the ending! You’re a spoiler! A dirty rotten spoiler!” He cries dramatically.

Keith rolls his eyes but Shiro catches the smirk tugging at his lips as he walks away, further down the trail. Shiro tucks the book into his pack with a smile, relieved to have pulled Keith out of whatever sullen funk he’d been sinking into.

As Shiro follows Keith, his pace slows in order to properly take in his surroundings. It’s quiet, save for the creek babbling beside them and the crunch of dirt and dry grass beneath their feet. The path is dotted with thin, white trees and sapling that sway gently in breeze. Overhead, the afternoon sun filters though the plentiful leaves of the canopy.

He’s about to rejoin Keith when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. Curious, he crouches down by some rocks near the stream to investigate, beaming as he picks up his discovery.

“Hey, I found turtle!” He calls out excitedly, causing Keith to turn back and join him with a bemused look on his face.

“Tortoise,” Keith gently corrects him, taking the reptile and inspecting it.

“Same difference,” Shiro shrugs bashfully.

Keith chuckles. “Yeah … not really.”

“Is it like the difference between alligators and crocodiles?”

“Sort of. Tortoises live on land while turtles live in the water. Also, turtles have soft flat shells while tortoises have hard, dome shaped shells. See?” He lifts the creature for Shiro to examine. “Oh, and both turtles’ and tortoises’ spines are connected to their shell, so you have to hold them with a hand on either side of their shell,” he adds, carefully handing the tortoise back to Shiro.

“Wow, I didn’t know that. I always thought they were more like hermit crabs or snails,” Shiro marvels, gently setting the creature back where he found it.

When he turns back he finds Keith staring at him with a look of bewildered amusement before bursting into an uncontrollable peal of laugher.

Shiro’s heart stutters and his eyes widen. This is the first time he’s heard Keith laugh. Like, _really_ laugh. Not a sarcastic scoff or cynical chuckle, a real honest-to-god laugh. Something from deep inside him, bubbling and overflowing with mirth. It’s beautiful. He’s so enchanted by the sound he forgets to feel offended.

“Wow!” Keith manages between howls, “I just realized that you are _shit_ at your job!”

“What!?” Shiro balks.

“You have like, a _serious_ lack of wildlife knowledge,” Keith chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. ~~~~

Shiro folds his arms with a pout as an embarrassed flush creeps across his cheeks. “Cut me some slack! I’m not a ranger or anything. We didn’t exactly learn zoology in basic training – and my only other experiences with nature were in the woods behind my house when I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do in the woods?” Keith asks breathlessly, having nearly recovered from his laughing fit.

“Lots of things,” Shiro shrugs, having mostly forgiven Keith for his uncouth outburst. “Those woods seemed huge when I was a kid. My brother and I would spend hours and hours exploring. One summer when I was eleven, we were out well into the evening and I was like, ‘ _We’ve got to be in Canada by now!’_ then Ryou started bawling saying, ‘ _I don’t want to go to Canada!_ ’ He was so upset.”

Shiro chuckles at the memory, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“We were always either harassing the local wildlife or causing wanton destruction. You know … kid things. We were practically eco-terrorists.”

“It sounds like you two are close.”

“Yeah … we were.”

“… Were?”

“We’ve … grown apart,” Shiro admits.

Keith’s thick brows press together. “… Why?”

There it is again. That strange softness that’s so unexpected and yet, somehow, so natural.

Shiro ducks his head with a hint of shame. He knows there’s no expectation that he answer. Part of him doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want Keith to know what kind of person he really is. And yet …

“When I got back … it was hard on him – all of them – my whole family,” he begins hesitantly. “It wasn’t just my rehabilitation … it was my outbursts, nightmares, flashbacks, all of it. It just wasn’t fair to them.”

Despite Shiro’s initial trepidation, he soon finds the words pouring out. “I think it was hardest for my brother though. As kids we were really close since it’s hard to make friends when you move as much as we did. I was his best friend and he … he looked up to me you know? I …” Shiro takes a deep breath and sighs, “I didn’t want him to see me like that. Suffering … struggling.”

Shiro swallows around the lump in his throat, staring at the ground. “So I pulled away. I didn’t want them to have to deal with my problems.”

Beside him, Shiro hears Keith take a breath and he braces for his judgment, waiting for Keith to tell him he’s being stupid or selfish or any number of things. It doesn’t really matter what he’ll say. Shiro’s heard them all. Or so he thinks.

“It’s … hard … supporting someone who’s going through what you went through,” Keith admits.

Shiro tears his gaze away from his scuffed boots to look at Keith, whose eyes are downcast, brows furrowed with thought.  
  
“But, it’s worth it … sticking around,” he adds softly.  
  
When their eyes meet, Shiro is forced to look away from Keith’s face. It’s too open. Too tender. It makes it hard to breathe. So Shiro’s eyes dart around, desperate for a change of subject. His gaze falls on the many slim trees surrounding them, the sun’s soft golden rays filtering through the surprisingly green foliage.

“Wow, for summer it sure is lush down here,” Shiro says, eager to lighten the mood.

“That’s because this is an Aspen grove,” Keith says, giving one of the trees’ smooth, pale bark a friendly pat.

Sensing Keith’s enthusiasm, Shiro encourages him with a teasing lilt, “Go on … _Mr._ _Nature Expert_.”

Keith smiles at the friendly jab and continues. “All these trees are actually a one root organism. They share water as a colony and can live hundreds of years, even through fire.”

Shiro looks around the grove, genuinely impressed. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Well, I must say Keith; I am in _turtle_ awe of your extensive knowledge.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith groans in mock disgust.

“No really! You’re _turt_ -ally amazing!”

“I told you, it was a tortoise! Not a turtle!” Keith says, trying his best to repress a smile.

“… _Tort_ -ally amazing?”

“Uuuuuugh.”

Shiro chuckles, feeling a slight swell of pride when he catches Keith grinning.

“But seriously, how do you know all this stuff?”

Keith shrugs. “Growing up I didn’t have any friends, and I wasn’t into sports or clubs or other things like that, so I read a lot.”

Shiro’s brows furrow, finding the idea that no one would try to befriend someone as interesting as Keith hard to believe.

“No friends? Really?”

Maybe he’s exaggerating. There were plenty of times during Shiro’s childhood when he felt friendless, but looking back, there was usually _someone_ he could hang out with, even if he didn’t consider them a true friend.

Keith scoffs dismissively. “Who’d want to be friends with me?”

Despite his flippant attitude there’s a hint of sadness in his offhanded comment, a loneliness that makes Shiro’s heart ache.

“I would,” Shiro says softly.

Once again, Shiro’s sincerity startles Keith into silence and he struggles to maintain his composure. Tucking an unruly strand of hair behind his reddening ear, Keith walks away, further down the path. The grove eventually thins into an open area nestled inside an amphitheater-esque collection of large rocks and boulders that Keith gestures to in mock grandeur.

“Well, here it is, home sweet home,” Keith says, indicating at the small tent tucked away by some trees near the furthest corner. “I’d invite you in but uh …” he trails off, quickly moving in front of the tent opening with a sheepish expression.

“It’s nice,” Shiro hums as he looks around.

If you didn’t want to be found this would definitely be the best spot to pick, with the large rocky hill and trees that surround the enclosure providing ideal protection against any prying eyes. Tree’s shadows streak across the ground, lengthening as the sun dips lower and lower behind the hills, signaling the end of the day with promise of tomorrow.

“Hey Keith?”

The younger man turns to Shiro and cocks his head.

“… Thanks.”

The inquisitive look on Keith’s face melts into a fond smile as he easily interprets Shiro’s words.

  
  
_Thanks for listening to me._

  
_Thanks for not judging me._

_  
Thanks for letting me in._

_  
Thanks for being my friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Victor Nikiforov voice* We’re going to have to burn that ugly hat


	9. Day 13

Excitement bubbles in Shiro’s chest as he peers inside the cachebox, biting his lip expectantly. A grin threatens to split his face in two as his hopes are realized in the form of a small scrap of paper hastily torn from a notebook.  
  
_Meet me at Arus meadow._  
  
Squished between the message and the bottom of the page, as though an afterthought, is Keith’s name written in a tiny scrawl.

With a smile, Shiro takes the note and folds it, tucking it into his breast pocket with an affectionate pat before heading toward the meadow. It doesn’t take long for him to spot Keith who is sitting in the shade of the trees that surround the field. As Shiro draws nearer his smile melts into a concerned frown. Everything about Keith’s posture screams anxious, with arms wrapped protectively around knees while feet tap nervously on the dusty ground.  
  
“Hey!” He calls out, not wanting to startle the younger man like before.  
  
Keith perks up at the sound of Shiro’s voice, quickly standing and dusting off the seat of his pants.  
  
“Hey,” Keith echoes, lacking Shiro’s enthusiasm.

Shiro immediately notices that Keith’s ridged posture hasn’t changed and his brows draw together. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Keith’s eyes dart away from Shiro, nervously biting his lip as his fists tap against his thighs.  
  
“Would you … I want you to teach me how to fight!” Keith says quickly, arms pressed firmly to his sides.

Shiro’s eyes go wide as relief washes over him. “Oh … ok.”

Keith’s brows shoot up. “Really?”

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah, what did you think I was gonna say?”  
  
Keith just shrugs, crossing arms over his chest defensively.  
  
“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes, biting the inside of cheek as he holds back another chuckle at the sight of Keith’s adorably disgruntled pout. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

“I want to be able to take on bigger opponents.”

Shiro nods in understanding. “I figured.”  
  
He takes a quick look around, rubbing his chin as he hums.  
  
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he says, holding his hand up before jogging back to his tower.

 

\--------------------

 

When Shiro returns, Keith is busy stretching, and he can see that Keith is not just fast, but also flexible. _Very_ flexible. Who knew he could do full splits.

As Shiro draws closer, he catches a glimpse of skin between Keith’s pants and the hem of his shirt as it rides up his toned back. Tearing his gaze away, Shiro announces his presence by clearing his throat. Keith looks back, his eyes widening as he chokes on a barely contained laugh.

With a petulant glower, Shiro crosses his arms over his chest, just above the pillow held to his torso by some rope.  
  
“I’m doing what I can with what I have ok?” He huffs.

“No, no,” Keith chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. “The Stay-Puft-Marshmallow-Man-look really works for you.”  
  
After rolling his eyes, Shiro walks to the center of field. Taking a deep breath, he tries to emulate his old drill sergeant, pulling his features into an intimidating scowl. Though, judging by the bemused look on Keith’s face, it’s not working, with Shiro’s menacing glare looking more like a childish sulk.

Shiro coughs into his fist.  
  
“Now, the problem with fighting people bigger than you is that they’re usually stronger and almost always _longer_ than you from standpoint of range. Here, I’ll show you.”  
  
Shiro beckons Keith closer and extend his arm, gently pressing his fist to Keith’s cheek and signals Keith to do the same.  
  
“As you can see, you’re not even close to hitting me,” Shiro says, indicating at the foot of space between Keith’s fist and Shiro’s face.  
  
With a frown Keith scoots closer, stretching his neck as he tries to get his fist closer to Shiro who chuckles at his determination.  
  
Shiro let’s his hand drop and takes a few steps back. “We’ll start with elusive tactics then work up from there.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow and frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “You mean scamper around like a frightened rabbit and try to not get hit?”

“Yeah, basically,” Shiro says flatly. “I’ll come at you, and you try to stay out of my reach. Ok?”

“I’m not really an _‘elusive tactics’_ kinda guy but sure, whatever,” Keith shrugs.

Shiro chuckles. “I’ve seen you run, remember? It’s a sight to behold.”  
  
Keith brightens at the compliment, something Shiro stores away for later. Both drop into combat stances and Shiro swings, keeping his hands open to prevent any unnecessary damage. Keith crabwalks away, easily keeping out of Shiro’s reach.

At first, Shiro can see that Keith is fighting his instinct to just charge him and go down swinging. A bit of pride bubbles in Shiro’s chest at how seriously Keith is taking his instructions, and is determined to do the same. Feigning left and right, Keith effortlessly dodges Shiro’s swings and a cocky grin begins to creep across his face.  
  
“Very good. It’s always best to wait for your opponent to make the first move. Remember, patience yields focus.”

“Oh my god, where did you get that? A fortune cookie?”

Shiro chuckles and a fond, nostalgic smile tugs at his lips. “My grandfather actually.”  
  
After a while, Keith begins to grow bored and his footwork grows sloppy because of it.  
  
“Is this all we’re doing?” Keith huffs, ducking to the side as Shiro’s hand nearly collides with his ear. “I don’t want to run away from every fight.”

“You have to always be on your toes. You never know when your opponent is gonna strike … like this!” Shiro says, lunging forward with a grin as he fully expects Keith to dodge the blow.  
  
However, Keith’s reflexes are dulled with boredom and he is slapped harshly across the cheek.

Shiro’s eyes go wide and his hand clamps over his mouth in horror, fingers still slightly tingly from the force of the slap. Something Shiro can’t quite put his finger on flashes across Keith’s face but it’s gone before he can pin it down.  
  
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” Shiro takes a step closer and reaches out to touch Keith’s reddening cheek before quickly retracting, fingers nervously twitching at his side.  
  
Keith blinks at him for a second before scoffing.  
  
“Oh please,” he waves dismissively. “My grandmother hits harder than you.” 

Despite Keith’s irreverent attitude, something about the statement doesn’t feel right, and Shiro has to ask, “… Are you sure you’re good to keep going?”  
  
Keith rolls his eyes and jerkily folds his arms across his chest.  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” he says tersely, obviously ready to change the subject. “Now you were saying?”

“… I was going to say that it’s good to practice the footwork for the moments when you might need it. You need to keep your distance until the opportunity to strike presents itself,” Shiro explains, watching Keith with concern as the younger man’s posture remains ridged.

“However,” he continues, despite his reservations, “If your opponent charges you, long range attacks can help slow the pace of a fight.”  
  
The mention of the word _attack_ piques Keith’s interest and his earlier agitation slowly ebbs away.  
  
“Now I already showed you how a larger opponent’s reach is longer than yours, but you can still kick from a reasonable distance. C’mere.”  
  
Keith takes a step closer, flailing a bit when Shiro bends over and lifts the back of Keith’s knee. As Shiro’s hand slides down Keith’s calf to grasp his ankle, his fingers involuntarily squeeze around the lean muscle. Shiro does his best to overlook the warmth spreading up his fingers as he takes a step closer, letting Keith’s foot press firmly against the pillow around his stomach. Once Keith’s foot is in position, Shiro extends his other arm and Keith leans further back, out of the older man’s reach.

“As you can see, you can easily kick my stomach while my fist is almost two feet away from your face.” Shiro pulls back. “If you build up your front kick you’ll have the longest reach in a fight.”  
  
Keith nods, cheeks growing a little pink as his eyes flick down to the hand on his leg then back up. Shiro’s gaze follows Keith’s and feels his own cheeks warm as he releases his firm grip abruptly, causing Keith to wobble when his foot drops to ground.  
  
_What was that?_  
  
Before Shiro can begin the process of over-analyzing his actions, Keith pipes up.  
  
“You’re still taller than me though. Can’t you kick me back?” He asks, brows scrunching together as he regains his footing.

“Of course,” Shiro says, breath coming out a bit more winded than he would like. “But most people have no idea how to throw a front kick correctly,”

“Yeah, me included,” Keith huffs.

“Which is why I’m going to show you right now,” Shiro says as he bends down to unlace his boots, relieved at how quickly his sudden flush is fading.

“A front kick may not pack a lot of power, but if you use it properly it can be pretty effective,” he explains, kicking his shoes to the side. “Think of it as a long range uppercut.”  
  
Keith nods, crossing his arms over his chest as he listens intently.  
  
“If you’re going for the groin: point your foot down and strike with top of your instep,” Shiro demonstrates, kicking a sock-clad foot out.  
  
Beside him, Keith removes his own shoes and copies the action.  
  
“If you’re aiming for anywhere else on the body, like the head, point your foot, but lift your toes so you’re striking with ball of your foot. Understand?”  
  
Keith licks his lips and nods, throwing a few practice kicks that satisfy Shiro who smiles encouragingly.  
  
“There are many variations, but for today I’ll just teach you the basics. We can learn the others another day, ok?”  
  
The promise of future lessons has Keith’s eyes lighting up as he nods vigorously. Shiro can’t help but smile at Keith’s enthusiasm and steps behind him, moving his hands to Keith’s hips before freezing.

Dr. Montgomery had once mentioned the possibility that he was touch starved. Naturally he’d denied it, but now … now starved is exactly the word he would use.

And he hates it.

It’s not fair to use Keith as outlet for his selfish desire for contact, especially considering Keith’s past skittishness. With their tentative friendship hanging in the balance, the last thing he wants is to scare the younger man off.

Swallowing thickly, Shiro licks his lips and takes a breath.  
  
“… Is this ok?” He asks hesitantly, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly where they hover inches away from the other man’s side.  
  
Keith peeks over his shoulder and just stares at him for a moment. There’s something in his eyes that makes Shiro shiver, like the younger man is studying him, sizing him up.  
  
 “You can touch me wherever you want,” he finally says with a casual shrug.  
  
As Keith turns to look ahead Shiro could swear the tips of his ears look pinker than before. Ignoring the possible implications, Shiro clears his throat and continues.  
  
“Ok, well, first you’re going to slightly pivot your right foot out and raise your knee, letting  your supporting leg bend slightly,” Shiro instructs as he moves Keith into position, making sure not to let his hand linger too long on Keith’s thigh, no matter how much he’d like to.

“Next, push your hips forward and rotate your supporting foot until it reaches 45 degrees,” Shiro says, gripping Keith’s hips, so he won’t wobble.  
  
At least that’s what Shiro tells himself as his fingers brush along the sliver of skin between Keith’s shirt and the hem of his jeans. There’s whooshing sound that draws his attention away as Keith’s leg cuts through the air, his features never wavering from intense concentration. After a few kicks he turns to Shiro with an expectant expression.  
  
“You’re a natural,” Shiro says, enjoying the way Keith flourishes under his praise.  
  
Reluctantly, Shiro’s hands slip from Keith’s hips as he moves to stand in front of him.  
  
“If your opponent is leaning toward you, aim for the head. If they’re not, make sure to pop your hip forward and aim for the chest and stomach.”

Shiro demonstrates in slow motion before having Keith to do the same.  
  
“Very good.”  
  
A pleased smile tugs at the younger man’s lips and his chest puffs out.  
  
“After a while, your opponents will start to be afraid of getting kicked. It’s during this period of calm you can start to devise a plan or execute your strategy,” Shiro explains.

 “Now let’s add what I just taught you to the evasive maneuvers, and we’ll see how you do,” Shiro says as he gets into position only to hesitate.

“And … maybe don’t kick at full strength,” Shiro hastily adds as he recalls the punches Keith threw during their less amicable fracas. “And please don’t hit my head … or my dick.”  
  
Keith huffs a short laugh before nodding and getting into position.  
  
“Ready?”

“Ready.”  
  
When Shiro lunges, Keith’s eyes narrow as he ducks, feeling the whoosh of air as Shiro’s open hand nearly connects with his face. He’s learned his lesson. He’s not going to be caught off-guard a second time. Springing back, Keith kicks his leg out, striking Shiro’s chest with the ball of his foot, causing the older man to stagger back.  
  
“I thought I said not full strength,” he wheezes.

“It wasn’t,” Keith says, watching Shiro with concern. ~~  
  
~~_Jesus …_ ~~  
  
~~ “Should we stop?” Keith asks, brows crinkling. ~~~~

“No, no. You just surprised me is all,” Shiro says as he straightens up and gets back into position, determined to see this through. ~~~~  
  
Every time Shiro takes a step too close Keith kicks at him and the pace begins to slow as Shiro begins to feel genuine trepidation. When Shiro swings again, Keith uses the opportunity to side-step, bringing his knee up to hit Shiro’s chest. As Shiro bends to soften the blow Keith tackles him, sending them both careening to the ground. Shiro lets out a sharp wheeze as the wind is knocked out of him.

Above him, Keith beams with pride. His smile is blinding, and it takes moment for Shiro to find his words. ~~  
  
~~ “Uh … not really what I had in mind but … way to improvise,” Shiro finally manages, forcing himself to ignore the way their bodies press together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. ~~  
  
~~ With a cheeky grin Keith pulls away and flops back with a grunt, tucking his hands behind his head. Shiro follows suit, staring up at the sky as he tries to convince himself that the sudden flush creeping across his face and chest is just from exertion and nothing else. ~~~~

A few puffy clouds sluggishly creep across the vast expanse of blue as it’s slowly overtaken by the golden rays of sunset, signaling the end to a surprisingly productive day. ~~  
  
~~ “Where’d you learn to fight?” Shiro asks, breaking the comfortable silence. ~~~~

Keith chuckles sourly. “The school of hard knocks.”  
  
Sitting up, Keith begins tearing chunks of grass from the ground, opening his fingers to let the wind whisk the blades away.  
  
“When I was eleven I wanted to take karate lessons but what did I get instead? Piano lessons … Five. Years. Of piano lessons. It was torture.”

Shiro chuckles at his dramatics. “I know your pain. Violin. Absolutely brutal. Supposedly made me more disciplined.”

“I would have preferred the karate lessons,” Keith huffs, tossing another handful of tawny grass to the wind. “Knowing how to play Beethoven’s Sonatine in G didn’t keep me from getting my ass handed to me for most of my childhood.”  
  
Shiro’s smile falls.  
  
“Did your grandparents know you were … getting beat up?” He asks cautiously.

Keith scoffs. “They’d have to be blind not to.”

“Your grandfather was in the military though … wouldn’t he want you to know how to defend yourself?”

Keith just shrugs. “I guess he thought I should learn on my own. Either that or he just _enjoyed_ seeing me get the ever-loving shit kicked out of me.”

Shiro’s brows furrow and he sits up on his elbows. “But … why?”

“I dunno …” Keith murmurs, rubbing his dirty, gloved palms against his thighs. “Sometimes I think they were just hard on me because they didn’t want me to turn out like my dad. It’s like … I was their second chance … a clean slate.”

After a pregnant pause Keith chuckles humorlessly.” Too bad this slate wasn’t as clean as they thought.”

“What do you mean?”

Keith just shrugs, plucking a blade of grass. “I was stubborn and willful, with an independent streak that was _heartily_ encouraged by my dad.”

Spinning the stalk between his fingers, Keith purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I think he didn’t want me to grow up like he did … under their thumbs,” he says, flicking it aside. “It made things difficult for my grandparents … but they knew how to _deal_ with a wayward child.”  
  
There it is again. Another offhand comment that makes Shiro pause.  
  
“And how did they … _‘deal’_ with you?” He asks tentatively, carefully studying Keith’s face.

Keith doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans to the side and plucks another blade of grass. “Watch this.”

Taking the hint, Shiro drops the subject and sits up, scooting closer to Keith. He knows better than to continue prodding, having been on receiving end of such prodding many times himself. He can be patient. He can wait. It’ll be worth it. Keith is worth it.

Beside him, Keith presses his thumbs together at the knuckles with the grass lengthwise between them. After licking his lips, Keith presses his mouth to his thumbs and blows.  
  
“Sounds like a dying duck,” Shiro observes blithely, earning a smirk from Keith.  
  
Plucking a blade for himself, Shiro joins Keith and the air is filled with the melodic drone of a hundred dying ducks. Eventually, Keith has to stop when he nearly chokes from laughing.

The sky is slowly overtaken by amber hues as the sun sets and shadows stretch across the field like deft strokes of paint across an ocher canvas.

After wiping his hands over his thighs, Keith stands up and turns to Shiro who begins to stand as well.  
  
“Thanks for the lesson,” Keith says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear only to have it stubbornly spring back into its previous unkempt position.

Shiro smiles at him. “No problem. I was happy to do it. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to do a roundhouse. That sound good?”

Keith smiles up at him with bright, eager eyes as he hums an affirmation. With that settled, Shiro waves goodbye as they make their way to their respective destinations.

 

\--------------------

 

As Shiro prepares for bed he peels off his uniform, prodding at the bruises forming around his ribs and stomach. Although he winces, he can’t help but smile. It was worth it to see Keith’s giddy expressions as they trained and he looks forward to their next lesson.

He can’t remember the last time he looked forward to something, or did something for someone else. It feels good. Satisfying.

With eagerness he thought he’d lost, Shiro slips beneath the sheets, knowing that sleep is the only way for tomorrow to come sooner. And for Shiro, tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The techniques Shiro described in this chapter are actually ones that work irl so if you ever wanna kick someone in the dick you now know how.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! I love reading them and they encourage me to work even harder!╰(•̀ω•́ )╯


	10. Day 18

Shiro rolls his shoulders with a grimace as a bead of sweat slides down his back, tickling him as it travels. He turns to Keith with a soft smile as the younger man wades through the shallow, rocky creek beside him, apparently not caring if his shoes become waterlogged. They soon reach the base of the shale slide that leads to the path back to the tower.

“After you,” Shiro graciously offers with an exaggerated bow.

Keith snickers at the gesture and starts to expertly climb up the rope. However, his confident smirk is soon wiped from his face as he hears a sharp snap. Shiro’s arms instantly fly up to catch Keith as he falls a few feet above him.  
  
“You ok?” Shiro gasps, arms protectively wrapping around the younger man.

“Yeah … I’m fine,” Keith grips Shiro’s arms tightly, staring up the craggy rock face.  
  
With his hand pressed tightly to Keith’s chest, Shiro can feel the other man’s heartbeat suddenly quicken and the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt.  
  
“… You can let go now … I’m ok.”

“Huh? Oh! R-right!” Shiro stutters as they awkwardly detangle their limbs.  
  
Once detached, Shiro’s gaze falls on the broken rope with a frown. “Guess we’re taking the long way.”

Keith folds his arms defiantly across his chest. “There’s no way I’m going _all_ the way back through the canyon, my feet are killing me. There’s gotta be another way.”

“Uhhh I don’t think so,” Shiro says, nervously watching as Keith unfolds his map and studies it carefully.

“Looks like there’s a cave nearby that connects to a path to your tower. C’mon, let’s check it out,” Keith quickly folds map, tucking it into his jacket pocket as he continues further down the canyon.

“Uh, K-Keith? Wait –” Shiro calls out, but he’s too late, Keith is already blazing ahead.

“I have a bad feeling about this …” he mumbles forebodingly.  
  
As he reluctantly follows Keith, the narrow sections of the canyon feel even more claustrophobic than usual, like they’re closing in around him. Overhead, the sun is blotted out by large cloud, adding to the chill settling in his bones. A few yards away he catches a glimpse of Keith slipping into the mouth of the cave. His stomach sours at the sight of it. He maintains a safe distance away from the entrance, but he can easily hear Keith messing around inside.  
  
“HelloOOOOOOO!” Keith’s voice echoes through the cave and a playful grin tugs at his lips. “I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AAAAAAAFRICAAAAAAAAAA!!!”  
  
Outside, Shiro tries to smile, but it’s tight and forced, unable to bring himself to join in Keith’s shenanigans.  
  
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he calls out in a clipped tone. “But it’s time to go. C’mon, we'll take the scenic route.”  
  
 Keith pokes his head out of the cave in time to watch Shiro heading back way they came, desperately hoping Keith will follow behind.  
  
“What are you talking about? This way is like, half as long,” Keith says, brows creasing in confusion.

“But the scenic route is so much more … _scenic_ ,” Shiro says as a familiar anxious coil tightens in his gut.

“Yeah … but the short cut is more … _short_ ,” Keith argues, his stubborn streak starting to rear its ugly head.  
  
Shiro prickles and anxiety starts to bubble beneath his skin.  
  
“Don’t make this into a big deal,” Shiro says snappishly.

“You’re the one making it into a big deal,” Keith counters sharply.

“Are you coming or aren’t you?” Shiro shouts, his angry words echoing through the canyon, slicing through the peaceful quiet like knives.  
  
Immediately, Keith flinches, going completely ridged as his face grows hard. Noticing this, Shiro pales as his initial stress subsides and is replaced with horror. He begins to step back, his hand covering his face.  
  
 “S-Sorry … I’m just … fuck,” he stutters as he retreats, his back hitting the canyon wall.

He’d hurt Keith. He’d hurt his friend. Because that’s all he’s capable of. All he can do. Hurt people. Hurt the people he loves.  
  
“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is concerned, but also quiet and wary.

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry …” Shiro breathlessly whispers the words like a mantra, not even noticing Keith cautiously approaching.

“This isn’t about shortcuts … is it?” Keith asks softly.  
  
Shiro shakes his head, not bothering to move the hand covering his face.  
  
“What is it _really?”_  
  
He doesn’t respond. Too afraid that his voice will fail him … and even more afraid that it won’t.  
  
“Shiro _please_ ,” Keith begs, concern evident in his tone.  
  
Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his pallid features as Keith guides him to sit on a large rock. Keith sits beside him and places a reassuring hand on Shiro’s shoulder.  
  
“Whenever you’re ready …” he murmurs, his calm voice soothing Shiro’s initial hesitation.

“… It was about 2 years ago … I was flying my first mission. It was simple: get in, blow up the bunker, and get out. Child’s play really,” Shiro chuckles humorlessly. “The only problem was that the target was in a cave at end of canyon. There were five of us, we had to fly low to get a clear shot. As we made our approach we were ambushed. They came out from behind rocks and crags with rockets and –”  
  
Shiro shuts his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to suppress the memories, but they resurface all the same. He can still see it all, clear as day. The sight of his teammates’ planes ablaze, screaming past him and colliding with the ground and canyon walls with sickening explosions of flames and debris.

Keith squeezes his shoulder, grounding him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.  
  
“I took out my target, but lost entire my crew, sustaining significant damage to my own jet in the process.”  
  
He remembers it vividly, the panic he felt as the ground drew near, the flashing lights and blaring alarms, the penetrating heat of the flames licking around him. He’d had only one thought in his mind, playing on repeat:

 

_I’m going to die_. 

 

“What happened?” Keith asks, preventing Shiro from getting too lost in his memories.

“When I woke up I found myself in a cave. Scarred. Restrained. No right arm.”  
  
He runs his fingers over the seam of his prosthetic absentmindedly, feeling a ghost of searing pain in the missing limb.  
  
“They kept me in those caves for months. No sunlight. No fresh air. Just the stagnant stench of –” He clenches his fist tightly, nails biting into the soft flesh of his palm.  
  
Keith carefully places his hand over Shiro’s, rubbing his thumb over Shiro’s knuckles in a soothing manner.  
  
“How did you get out?” He asks in a calm voice.

“There was a doctor, the one who fixed my arm … he helped me escape.”

“What happened to him?”

“He kept the guards at bay while I escaped, he … he used a bomb.”  
  
Shiro’s stomach churns at the memory of the explosion, the shockwave rippling through the cave, through him.  
  
“He died because of me … so many people died because of me.” Shiro can feel his pulse picking up as the memories begin to overwhelm him, guilt weighing on him like molten lead, making it difficult to breathe.

“Shiro –”

”I-I led them to their deaths! I killed them all!” He jerks his hand away from Keith’s, running it though his hair and gripping the longer strands tightly as he curls inward.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did!” He insists, his voice becoming strained and frantic as his breathing grows more and more erratic.

“Shiro ...” Keith moves to crouch in front of the older man, his voice muffled and low in Shiro’s ears. “Shiro look at me,” he says, calm but firm.  
  
Shiro manages to pry his gaze off the ground and onto Keith’s face.  
  
“I need you to breath with me. Can you do that?”  
  
Shiro forces a few gasping breaths, trying his best to match Keith’s slower even pace.  
  
“That’s right, just like that. Just breathe.”

“I c-ca-can’t,” Shiro rasps, squeezing his eyes together tightly.

“Yes you can. Just go slow. Take as long as you need,” Keith says soothingly.

Shiro takes some more desperate gulps of air into his lungs, slowly evening his pace.

“What do you feel? Five things. Just tell me five things you feel.”

“H-hot … and m-my chest it’s –”

“Ok, ok,” Keith cuts him off, preventing Shiro from getting lost in his thoughts again. “Now tell me what you hear.”  
  
Drawing his brows together, Shiro tries to focus on his surroundings.  
  
“T-the creek and … birds …”  
  
When Shiro hears the crunch of rock beneath Keith’s feet and a splashing sound, panic briefly surges through his veins. Keith’s leaving him. He wants to open his eyes but can’t, too afraid of what he’ll see.  
  
“K-Keith?”

“I’m still here,” Keith assures him. “Tell me what you smell.”  
  
Shiro swallows, taking a few deep, shuddery breaths through is nose.

“Something sweet … like drying hay and dust.”

“Good,” Keith encourages, tentatively tugging Shiro’s hands from hair, letting them rest on Shiro’s knees.  
  
Suddenly, Shiro feels is something cool brushing along his cheek and he flinches.  
  
“It’s okay,” Keith sooths, gently caressing Shiro’s face with his wet bandana.  
  
With a sigh, Shiro leans into the touch as Keith wipes away sweat and tears he doesn’t remember shedding.  
  
“Now tell me something you see.”  
  
Shiro slowly opens his eyes, coming face to face with Keith’s calm, but concerned face.

At this distance he can easily make out a light sprinkling of pale freckles that dust the bridge of Keith’s nose and the longest, thickest eyelashes he’s ever seen framing dark navy eyes. Or are they violet? Shiro isn’t quite sure.  
  
“You have beautiful eyes,” Shiro mumbles, causing Keith’s brows to shoot up.  
  
The younger man lets out a breathless chuckle, a comforting sound that sends a surge of warmth to Shiro’s chest. Keith shakes his head, biting his lip as he looks up at Shiro with brows slightly furrowed and a soft, fond smile on his face.

“Listen to me,” Keith murmurs, cautiously lifting his hands to gently cup Shiro’s face.  
  
Shiro initially freezes at the contact but soon melts into the grounding touch as Keith rubs his thumbs along Shiro’s cheekbones.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault … you said it yourself, you had no idea there would be an ambush.”

“But –”

“You did what you could. You’re alive …” Keith continues, his voice grows soft and quiet. “Doesn’t that count for something?”  
  
Keith’s brows are drawn together with concern as his eyes scan Shiro’s face. Suddenly, the tender expression on Keith’s face is too overwhelming and Shiro’s gaze falls to the ground.  
  
“I … I still feel bad though,” he admits hoarsely.

“And that’s … ok … it’s ok to feel bad about what happened,” Keith sighs, bringing their foreheads together. “As long as you don’t blame yourself.”  
  
The affectionate gesture and the gentleness in Keith’s voice is too much to bear and something inside Shiro breaks, bursting like a dam. He doubles over as violent sobs wrack his trembling frame. Keith says nothing, just cradles Shiro’s head in the crook of his neck, fingers scratching at the short hairs on his nape.

Eventually Shiro’s sobs peter out into short, even gulps of air as Keith gently pets his hair. Once his breathing grows even, he pulls out of Keith’s embrace as the adrenaline wears off, leaving him shaking and ashamed.  
  
“S-sorry … you shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he sniffs, grinding the heel of his palm against his eyes which are still sore and red from crying.  
  
Dammit. This was why he wanted to get away in the first place. To not be a burden on the people he cared about. And yet here he is, clinging to Keith like a needy child, selfishly forcing Keith to deal with all his baggage.  
  
_Stupid! Stupid! Stu–_  
  
”Stop it,” Keith’s says firmly, cutting off Shiro’s self-deprecating tirade. “I’m here because I want to be ok?”  
  
Shiro’s eyes dart across Keith’s face, searching for any sign of insincerity. But he only sees determination in Keith’s deeply intense eyes.

As Shiro stares, Keith’s features soften and a slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

Shiro chuckles weakly. “Stubborn.”  
  
With a gentle smile, Keith brushes the hair off Shiro’s sweat and tear damp face. Closing his eyes, Shiro leans into the touch and sighs deeply. The soothing gesture soon calms Shiro down and he leans back against canyon wall. After dusting off his knees, Keith plops down beside him, his brows drawn together in thought.

“I don’t mean to pry but … have you seen anyone about … _this_?” He asks carefully.

“Not this specifically. Don’t really have a lot of caves in the big city,” Shiro chuckles weakly, trying his best to lighten the mood.

With a frown, Keith turns to face the canyon wall opposite them, nervously pressing his fingers into a steeple position in front of his face. After a minute or two of silence Keith speaks up.

“Have you ever heard of Systematic Desensitization?” He asks, anxiously peeking at Shiro out of the corner of his eye. “It’s also known as Prolonged Exposure therapy.”  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows as he thinks back to his sessions with Dr. Montgomery, mostly recalling his stubbornness and penchant for dealing with things on his own.

“I think my therapist might have mentioned it, why?”

Keith takes a deep breath, “It involves gradual exposure to triggers, coupled with relaxation exercises when anxiety levels become too great. I think it could help you.”

Shiro considers him for a moment. “How do you know about it?”

“I … I learned about it in school.”

“School?

“I was going to college to become a veteran’s counselor,” Keith says sheepishly, shoulders inching steadily higher.

“Because of your dad?” Shiro asks softly.

Keith nods, and begins to rub hands together anxiously. Shiro stares at him for a moment before leaning back with a sigh, letting his head hit the warm canyon walls as he closes his eyes in contemplation.

This isn’t working. Running away. He’s tired of it. Tired of being stubborn. Tired of letting his fears and pride stand in his way. Holding him back. He needs to do something. Otherwise he’ll just go back home the same broken man he was when he arrived. At least out here he has a degree of freedom. No one to badger him. Always asking him if he’s better yet. As if it could ever be that clear cut. He would never get that with Keith. Keith understands.  
  
“ … I’ll do it,” Shiro says, voice hushed but determined.

Beside him, Keith ceases his anxious brooding, jerking his head to face Shiro. “What?”

Taking a deep breath, Shiro turns and looks Keith dead in the eye. “I’ll do it … with you.”

Keith’s eyes widen, nearly the size of saucers.

“But … I’m not even certified yet. I only just got my Bachelors and – well … that’s not entirely accurate … technically I dropped out just before I finished my degree,” he confesses, shoulders slumping significantly.

Shiro watches as Keith practically deflates and is surprised at the younger man’s sudden lack of confidence.

“… I trust you,” he says softly, but earnestly.

Once again, Keith’s eyes meet Shiro’s. They look wet around the edges and Keith’s brows are pressed tightly together.

“Really?”  
  
Shiro nods.  
  
“You sure?” Keith’s voice is filled trepidation, like he’s giving a Shiro a chance to back out, to run away … just like everyone else.

“Positive,” Shiro confirms, a tired but gentle smile pulling the corners of his mouth.

“Wow …” Keith says softly, face slowly splitting into grin as he jumps to his feet. “Ok then, the first step is … well … I think we’d better save that for tomorrow, you’ve had a pretty rough day,” he smiles sympathetically.

“You’re probably right,” Shiro says weakly, pushing off the rock to stand on shaky legs, taking Keith’s arm when it’s offered to him.  
  
Shiro leans into Keith appreciatively, still feeling a bit lightheaded.  
  
“C’mon, let’s take the scenic route. I hear it’s much more … _scenic_ ,” Keith says with a friendly smirk.  
  
The pair slowly walks back to Shiro’s tower in comfortable silence with Keith never straying from Shiro’s side. By the time they reach the clearing, the sky is streaked with rust and gold, painting the trees and fields in honey hues.

Suddenly, Keith stops, releasing Shiro’s arm. “I better not get too close. Don’t want your _‘nosy neighbor’_ to catch me.”

“Ah, right … good idea,” he agrees, already missing Keith’s body next to his.

“Now don’t forget, tomorrow at the cave. Noon.”

“I won’t,” Shiro chuckles warmly, finding Keith’s seriousness rather endearing.  
  
Keith starts to head back down the path but stops, turning back toward Shiro, eyebrows arching with concern.  
  
“… You gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles reassuringly. “You better go before it gets too late.”  
  
Keith nods and turns to leave.  
  
“And Keith?”  
  
His head quickly snaps back to face Shiro.  
  
“… Thanks.”  
  
Keith’s features soften and the corner of his mouth lifts into a gentle smile. While Keith heads down the trail, Shiro watches him fondly before walking the short distance to his tower. Once inside he leans against the door, still wrung out from the whole ordeal, as well as their long hike. He lifts his flesh arm, staring at it vaguely. If he focuses hard enough, he can almost feel the warmth of Keith’s arm wrapped around his. A strange ache blooms in his in his chest, but he pushes thoughts of its cause to the back of his mind.

He shuffles over to his bed, remembering to remove his prosthetic before flopping bonelessly onto the mattress. Despite everything that happened sleep comes easy, with memories of tender touches replacing those of burning flesh and metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith: don’t try this at home  
> Shiro: we’re what you call, experts  
> Lance's muffled voice in the distance: BUT YOU’RE NOT THOUGH?????????
> 
> Please leave therapy to the professionals, kids. This has been a PSA.


	11. Day 19

A gentle morning breeze wafts through the open window of Shiro’s tower, playfully nudging his bangs. He absentmindedly brushes the locks aside, too focused on his novel to shut the window. His eyes widen as he reads, completely engrossed in the drama playing out on the pages before him.

The Red Knight has just broken into the castle where his noble leader, the Black Knight, is held prisoner. Bursting into the dungeon, he easily overtakes the two guards blocking his path, and rushes to the side of his comrade, who has been cruelly tied to The Rack. The Red Knight hovers over his comrade, eyes glistening with tears of relief as he strokes the other man’s face. With a soft and trembling voice he leans in and whispers the Black Knight’s name –  
  
“Shiro? You there?”  
  
Shiro leans his head back with a loud groan and scowls at the radio sitting on his desk. What is it with Lance calling him at the worst possible moments?

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and plods over to the radio, plucking it from its cradle.  
  
“I’m here,” he grumbles, leaning against the old desk.

“There are some suspicious lookin’ characters loitering around the cave. I think you better check it out.”

A cold spike of anxiety shoots through Shiro's veins as his eyes dart to the clock hanging over his desk. It’s too early for their session, but it could be Keith that Lance saw. The last thing he wants is to be caught in a lie, or worse, have Keith sent home. On the other hand, Lance did say _characters_ – plural. Maybe it wasn’t Keith after all.  
  
“I thought you said the cave was okay to pass through … or are you worried that a bear is living inside it?”

“Har har.”

“Shiro, please,” Allura’s insistent voice cuts in. “All you have to do is make sure no one’s breaking in.”  
  
Shiro sighs in defeat. By now, he’s learned better than to argue with Allura, especially after the incident with the Holts. He looks back at the book on his bed with longing before grabbing his pack and clunking down the stairs of his tower, the knot of anxiety tightening with every winding step down path to the rock bridge.

He soon makes it to his destination - much to his dismay. After a cursory glance around, Shiro sees no sign of activity … _outside_ the cave.

With yesterday’s memories still fresh in his mind, Shiro swallows hard and inches toward the cave mouth.  
  
“Hello?” He calls out weakly.

“Hey!”  
  
Shiro jerks back in surprise as Keith’s voice echoes through the cave, followed by the younger man emerging with a smile.  
  
“You’re early,” Keith says plainly.

“So are you …” Shiro counters. “What were you doing in there?”

Keith blinks, then shrugs. “It’s shorter than going through the canyon.”

Shiro’s brows furrow with thought. “Both routes are about the same distance aren’t they?”  
  
Keith just shrugs again, declining to answer.  
  
“My turn, what are _you_ doing here?” He hums playfully.

“Lance thought he saw some _‘suspicious characters’_ loitering around and Allura wanted me to check it out,” Shiro explains.

 Keith’s mischievous smirk falters and his brows draw together. “Lance? Allura?”

“Oh, they’re both lookouts. Allura is my boss, and Lance is the reason you can’t stop by my tower.”

With a hum, Keith tilts his head to the side. “What towers are they in?”

“Allura is in White Tower, and Lance is in Blue.”

The corners of Keith’s mouth are pulled further down as his brows pinch tightly. “That’s … impossible … there’s no way the cave is visible from his tower.”

Shiro just offers a shrug. “Lance fancies himself as some sort of super-spy. He’s got a pair of binoculars and _waaaay_ too much time on his hands.”

“Creepy,” is all Keith supplies, face still twisted into a frown.  
  
Shiro hums in agreement, his gaze falling on Keith’s arms which have been conspicuously tucked behind his back their entire conversation. He arches an eyebrow.  
  
“What have you got back there?” He asks with a smirk, leaning to the side.  
  
Keith’s expression morphs into one of surprise as his face is overtaken with a blush.  
  
“Oh, this is uh …” he stiffens and takes a step back, pressing himself against the canyon wall.  
  
His eyes dart nervously from the ground to Shiro who observes him with amusement. Reluctantly, Keith untucks his arms from behind his back and presents an old walkman. It’s a dull, rusty red in color and definitely worse for wear judging by the cracked cover and duct tape holding the batteries in.

Cocking his head to the side, Shiro accepts it.  
  
“What’s this?” He asks, rubbing his fingers along the worn edges.

“Its … just listen,” Keith sighs, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, still unable to look Shiro in the eye.  
  
With a shrug, Shiro slips on the headphones. The tape starts with a familiar click, and his eyes widen as it plays.  
  
“You’d mentioned having nightmares so I …” Keith trails off peeking up at Shiro though thick bangs.  
  
On the tape is Keith’s voice, speaking in a sweet, soothing tone as he repeats the same calming method he’d used just the other day.  
  
“You can use this the next time you have a panic attack,” Keith explains, watching Shiro uneasily. “We can also use it to record your sessions so you can revisit them later and practice on the days we aren’t working.”

The headphones slip to hang around Shiro’s neck where his Adam’s apple bobs. His fingers squeeze around the walkman, clutching at it like a lifeline. To anyone else, it’s not much. Just an outdated piece of junk with one foot in the landfill and the other on a banana peel.  But for Shiro, it means he’s not a lost cause, not beyond help. And more importantly, he’s worthy of it.

As Shiro takes a step closer to Keith, who is looking up with a nervous, yet hopeful expression, he’s overwhelmed with a sudden swell of emotions. His heart feels like it’s going to burst if he doesn’t do or say something, so he reaches out, fingers tentatively grazing the fabric of Keith’s sleeve. The younger man stares up at him with wide, almost expectant eyes, not shying away from their proximity.  
  
“Keith …”  
  
As Shiro takes a breath to speak, he is immediately cut off by Lance who whispers loudly.  
  
“Psssst … Shiro … you there?”  
  
While Shiro fumbles with the radio, Keith takes the cassette player, absentmindedly detangling the wires while Shiro responds.  
  
“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies, speaking at a volume a normal human being would use.

“You’ve been quiet for a while now. I was worried the Balmera Beast’d gotten you.”

“No, no,” Shiro chuckles. “Nothing like that.”

 “Did you see anyone inside?” Allura asks, cutting to the chase.  
  
His eyes instantly dart to Keith, who ceases his nervous twisting.  He can’t help but notice the sudden flash of panic in Keith’s eyes. Like he actually believes Shiro would rat him out.  
  
“No,” Shiro says firmly, his steady gaze never wavering from Keith. “I didn’t see anyone.”  
  
Keith releases a breath Shiro didn’t realize he’d been holding, tension melting from his no longer rigid posture.  
  
“Very good. Thank you Shiro,” Allura hums appreciatively.

“It’s the least I could do,” he replies meaningfully, giving Keith a soft smile.    
  
Keith’s own face mirrors the expression, overflowing with unspoken gratitude for being understood, for being trusted. Shiro knows full well he could never fully express with words how much Keith’s faith means to him, but hopes the other man can see even a fraction of his gratitude in his actions.


	12. Day 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP I'm bored as rocks and on break and I realized there's no law preventing me from posting more than one chapter a day so here we are. Also that last chapter was short and my love for slowburns is only matched by my desire for them to just kiss already.
> 
> Also also, TW for implied suicide attempt. (wow that went from 0 to 100 real quick)

Dry grass pokes at Shiro’s back, barely impeded by his uniform which sticks uncomfortably to his skin, still flushed and sweaty from a long afternoon of sparring.

The wind sends ripples across the field, causing Keith’s hair to brush against Shiro’s cheek, sending sparks along his skin. If Shiro turned his face just a fraction, he would be able to press his face into Keith’s soft hair. At least he assumes it’s soft. It certainly looks that way.  
  
“This is silly,” Keith huffs, breaking through Shiro’s fanciful thoughts.

“No it’s not.”

“They just look like big white blobs to me,” Keith says, waving a hand emphatically at the clouds slowly creeping across the azure sky.

“You’re not trying hard enough. Here, let me show you.”  
  
Shiro shifts closer to Keith, feeling the warmth radiating off younger man’s body when their shoulders brush.  
  
“That one looks like a duck … see?” Shiro lifts his arm, pointing skyward and tracing the outline of the aforementioned waterfowl.   
  
Tilting his head to the side, Keith hums as his gaze follows Shiro’s arm.  
  
“Your turn,” Shiro says, letting his hand fall conveniently close to Keith’s, their knuckles nearly brushing.  
  
Keith’s face scrunches adorably, eyes narrowing as he focuses.  
  
“I see a … sheep.”

“… Keith.”

“A cotton-ball.”

“ _Keith_.”

“A white tribble.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that!” Shiro whines, earning a chuckle from Keith. “Hey, maybe if you look long enough you might see a UFO.”

Keith’s head snaps in Shiro’s direction, brows pinched together. “UFO?”

“Yeah, apparently in the 50s there were some sightings in the area. I was reading about it in one of the books in my tower,” Shiro elaborates. “Not exactly Roswell levels, but enough to cause a stir. Probably just missile testing or experimental aircrafts.”

Keith’s lips pucker into a contemplative pout as he turns back to stare at the sky.

“… Do you believe in them?”

“What? Experimental aircrafts? Shiro replies innocently.

“No,” Keith chuckles, playfully smacking Shiro’s chest with the back of his hand. “UFOs.”

“I think anything can be a UFO if you’re bad enough at identifying flying objects,” Shiro replies blithely.

Keith rolls his eyes with a huff. “I’m serious.”  
  
With a sigh, Shiro’s brows furrow as he considers Keith’s words.  
  
“If there _really_ are intelligent beings from other planets that are _that_ technologically advanced, wouldn’t they have make contact by now?”

“Haven’t you ever seen _The Day the Earth Stood Still_? The aliens don’t want to talk to us until we’re more advanced and stop trying to kill each other,” Keith explains far too casually. “You know, the prime directive and all that … don’t you watch Star Trek?”

A good natured huff slips past Shiro’s lips. “My dad watched it as a kid, but I never got into it. Too cheesy.”

“Snob.”

Shiro laughs in earnest. “Did your dad watch it?”

“Yeah …” Keith smiles fondly. 

“Figured,” Shiro mumbles, earning another smack.

“He loved space …” Keith continues, undeterred. “He used to dream of exploring it.”

“What happened?”

_“I_ happened …” Keith huffs bitterly. “When my grandparents found out, they were furious and kicked him out. He was barely 18, not even out of high school. He managed to find work here and there, but … it’s not like he could follow his dreams. Couldn’t go to college. Could barely _feed_ me.”

“Is that when he enlisted?”  
  
With a heavy sigh, Keith nods.  
  
“After being in the army he didn’t really want to be bossed around anymore, so when he was discharged he just sorta … hit the road," he says, foot tapping idly against Shiro who finds himself enjoying the contact, no matter how brief.

It slowly dawns on Shiro that it’s been long time since he felt comfortable letting anyone touch him so casually and even longer since he actively touched anyone else. Sure, the desire to reach out was always present, but he didn’t want to come off as needy or burdensome, so he never acted on it.

Until now.

Cautiously, Shiro grazes the tip of his shoe against Keith’s, testing some sort of invisible boundary. After a few of these diffident caresses, Keith’s absentminded tapping grows softer, turning into coy strokes as the two indulge in the fleeting contact.   
  
“What did you do?” Keith asks.

“Hm?” Shiro jolts, startled from his introspective thoughts.

“After you got back … after therapy?”  
  
Shiro’s strokes come to a halt as shame washes over him, burrowing into his chest, clawing at his insides, making a home there.

He can’t tell Keith. He just can’t. Whatever respect Keith still had for him would come crashing down. He can’t tell him about the endless apathy. The self-inflicted isolation. The hollow days that stretched into weeks … into months. Sure, he eventually shaped his life in to something more socially acceptable – got a job, got an apartment – all those things one expects of a well-adjusted adult. But if Ryou’s friend hadn’t put in a good word for him at The Empire City Chronicle, who knows what he would have done with himself. Nothing good, that’s for damn sure.

It’s humiliating enough to admit to himself, even more so to others.

Still … he’s shown his most vulnerable sides to Keith already. And every time Keith been nothing but respectful and understanding in a way few people have. Why should this be any different?

Shiro sucks in a deep, shaky breath.   
  
“I … I wasn’t exactly … _proactive_ after I got back,” he admits, tripping awkwardly over his words as he tries to soften the sharp, jagged edges of the disappointing reality. “During the first few years I stayed with my folks. My brother lived nearby so he was able to visit regularly. I thought it would be easier … having them close, but …”  
  
Shiro closes his eyes with a sigh.   
  
“My dad, well … he was always the stoic type anyway, just one in a long line of military heroes,” Shiro explains. “If he was ever affected by war, he never showed it … I think he expected me to do the same.”  
  
He pauses a moment, collecting his thoughts.  
  
“As for my mom, she tried to encourage me the best she could but … she just couldn’t understand why I wasn’t like all the success stories she’d heard about. Why I wasn’t like all the people who bounced back better than ever, full of optimism and hope.”  
  
His fingers curl around the grass till the blood leaves his knuckles, gripping the blades like they’re the only thing holding him down.  
  
“I couldn’t be that person. I tried, I _really_ did try and it –”   
  
He’s forced stop, voice cracking around the lump in his throat as his tongue is weighed down by memories of a cold, heavy pressure and the harsh click of metal on teeth.

Tentatively, Keith places a hand over Shiro’s trembling fist, preventing him from slipping deeper into his memories. Even through the leather glove, Shiro can feel the soothing warmth of Keith’s skin.

Shiro takes shaky breath and opens his eyes before continuing.   
  
“It almost killed me.”   
  
Beside him, Keith takes a deep breath of his own and swallows thickly, giving Shiro’s hand a supportive squeeze, encouraging him to continue.   
  
“I felt like everyone expected me to get better. And every time I didn’t live up to that expectation I was just disappointing them over and over again. Nothing I did seemed good enough …” he trails off, voice growing weak. “I’m not good enough.”  
  
Keith abruptly turns toward Shiro, face set in a fierce expression. Swinging his free arm over Shiro’s chest, he slams it against the ground as he pulls himself up onto his elbow, still clutching Shiro’s hand and pressing it to his chest as he practically shouts.   
  
“You don’t have to be!”    
  
The sudden movement makes Shiro flinch, his eyes widening with shock as he is once again startled from his self-deprecating thoughts by Keith’s passionate tirade.  
  
“ _Fuck_ what everyone else thinks you should be and _fuck_ their expectations!” Keith continues, eyes burning with fury. “You’re not a fucking motivational poster Shiro. You’re a human being. You’re allowed to screw up … in fact it’s expected.”  
  
Keith’s face softens significantly, and he sighs, shoulders losing their tension as they sag. His brows draw up and together as he stares imploringly.  
  
“You’re an amazing person Shiro … you’re funny, patient, kind … but you’re not superman … and you don’t have to be.”  
  
Tears prick at the corners of Shiro’s eyes as his emotions begin to overwhelm him and he swallows around the lump in his throat. How does Keith do it? Every time Shiro feels empty, devoid of hope, Keith’s right there to fill him up again to the point of overflowing.

He can’t hold it all in. It’s too much. It has to go somewhere.  
  
“Aaah fuck,” Shiro curses around a breathless chuckle, squeezing his eyes shut hold in tears, not wanting to release Keith’s hand just yet to wipe them away.

“Sorry, I don’t normally cry so much. At least … not in front of anyone,” he adds hesitantly.

“Don’t apologize,” Keith soothes, settling next to Shiro. “It’s good for you.”  
  
His hand is still clasping Shiro’s loosely, like he’s giving the older man a chance to let go. As if that would ever happen.  
  
“Do you ever cry?”  
  
To be honest, Shiro can hardly imagine Keith crying, and now that he’s asked … he doesn’t want to.  
  
“Sometimes … but not as much as I should,” Keith admits softly, gaze falling to their intertwined hands as his thumb slowly rubs against Shiro’s knuckles. “My Grandparents were _very_ old-school … boys don’t cry and all that.”   
  
Shiro hums in understanding, recalling his mother’s words as his father was deployed when Shiro was just a boy.  
  
_Come now, Takashi. You don’t want him to see you cry do you? Be strong for him and Ryou. Ok?_  
  
“Instead I got into fights,” Keith says, snapping Shiro from his resentful memories. “It was … easier.”

“Easier?” Shiro gently coaxes, sensing Keith’s hesitation.

“People I can punch. Feelings? Not so much,” Keith chuckles humorlessly, his dry smirk drooping into a somber frown. “Eventually … not even that helped.”

Shiro gives Keith’s hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“Took me until college to figure out that not all problems can be solved with my fists,” Keith continues. “And that was only after I opened up to one of my professors. He helped me figure out a lot of stuff.”

“He sounds nice,” Shiro murmurs, taking his turn to soothingly rub Keith’s hand.

“Yeah … He was one of the few people who believed that I was more than some punk kid with no future,” Keith says, smiles fondly before chuckling. “He kinda looked like Wolverine.” ~~  
  
~~ Shiro can’t help but laugh at mental image, causing any remaining tension to seep from his body. ~~  
  
~~ “What school did you go to?” ~~~~

“Oh, uh … Kerberos University,” Keith states casually, his gaze subtly shifting to the side.

 Shiro’s eyes widen. “Wow.”  
  
He easily recognizes the name belonging to one the more prestigious colleges Ryou had been considering before he’d settled on more _realistic_ options.  
  
“I’m impressed,” Shiro marvels. “You must have worked really hard to get in.”

Keith just humbly shrugs before muttering, “Yeah well … I didn’t really have a choice.”

The barely contained resentment in the statement gives Shiro pause and he cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Honestly … it was the lesser of two evils.”

 “Evils?” Shiro repeats, unable to miss the sudden shift in Keith’s formerly calm demeanor as the younger man fidgets.

“At 18 I was given an ultimatum: Go to college … or join the army.”

Shiro’s brows furrow. “Did you not want to be a counselor?”  
  
Beside him, Keith squirms, his free hand nervously tugging at hem of his shirt.   
  
“I guess what I really wanted to do was what my dad did … _god_ we had so much fun,” Keith sighs wistfully. “The great outdoors, the quiet, the freedom. I loved it more than anything else, and not just ‘cause I was with my dad. It just felt … right.”  
  
Keith’s fond smile falls and he exhales sharply.  
  
“To be honest … if it hadn’t been for him, I never would have even _considered_ being a therapist.”

“Well, you’re very good at it,” Shiro offers kindly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Keith snorts teasingly. “You’re already getting free therapy out of me, remember?”  
  
As Keith chuckles, Shiro’s brows crease and he can’t stop himself as a sudden, distressing thought slips from his brain and out his mouth.  
  
“Why?”  
  
At the time of Keith’s offer of help, Shiro hadn’t really considered the motivation behind it. But now, considering Keith’s apparent disinterest in the profession, it strikes him as odd.

Judging by Keith’s perplexed expression, Shiro can tell he doesn’t understand.   
  
“Was it just … pity?” He elaborates, the words tasting too bitter, too accusatory for Keith to deserve.  
  
Keith’s face contorts into annoyed grimace, clearly offended at the very idea.  
  
“I don’t _do_ pity.” He spits the words like they’re poison on his tongue and Shiro instantly regrets his phrasing.

“Then … _why_?” Shiro presses.  
  
There’s a vulnerable softness in his voice as his eyes bore into Keith’s, searching for … something. Keith stares at Shiro long and hard before his features slowly soften.   
  
“… Because you gave back my stereo.”

 Shiro’s expression morphs from apprehensive confusion to downright bafflement. “What?”  
  
Keith doesn’t answer, instead letting an aggravated huff slip past his lips as he runs his free hand through his hair, pushing the long bangs off his face.  
  
“You decided to help me … because I returned your stereo?” Shiro says slowly, brows still crinkled with puzzlement.  
  
Keith finally releases Shiro’s hand to scrub his face as the tips of his ears turn pink.  
  
“No I – _guh_!” He grunts with frustration as his arms flop to the side in defeat, revealing the light blush dusting the apples of his cheeks.

“I did it because you didn’t rat me out … because you apologized, because you tried to cheer me up, because you looked for me, because you trusted me, because you said I fight good, because I –”  
  
Keith cuts himself off with a sigh, turning to face the older man.  
  
“Because you’re my friend, Shiro.”  
  
Inside Shiro’s chest, his heart stutters at the sincerity of Keith’s words, feeling the emotion behind them hit him like a deluge.   
  
“Keith …”Shiro begins, rolling to his side to properly face Keith who matches the movement, gazing at him intently.  
  
There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to express.

Before Shiro can even begin to form proper thoughts, let alone words, he is interrupted by Allura.  
  
“Shiro? Please pick up.”

Both men’s gazes fall to the radio at Shiro’s hip, unable to miss how close they are, practically pressed together. With wide eyes, Keith rolls away and sits up while Shiro schools his expression, wiling his flushed face to cool as he clears his throat.  
  
“I’m here.”

“I’ve been getting some reports from Fish & Game about a problem bear they’re trying to keep tabs on.”  
  
Shiro’s eyes dart to Keith who cocks an eyebrow.  
  
“If you see anything, like fresh tracks for example, let me know.”

“Sure thing,” Shiro replies weakly before clipping the radio onto his belt and turning back to Keith who wears a bemused expression.

“A _‘problem’_ bear?” Keith repeats, air quotes and all.

 “I’m of the opinion that _all_ bears are problem bears,” Shiro says dryly.

“What? You don’t want to see a bear in person?”

“ _Hell_ no. I prefer to see bears in nature documentaries and cartoons where they steal _pic-a-nic_ baskets, not charging me and mauling me to death.”  
  
Keith just laughs, dusting himself off before grabbing his jacket and hat where they’d been tossed aside. As Keith collects his things, Shiro eyes him with concern.  
  
“Are you gonna be ok? I mean … with this whole bear thing?”

“Don’t worry, if a bear comes at me I’ll give a few of these,” Keith smirks and proceeds to throw a competent roundhouse.

“I’m serious,” Shiro chides.

“Awww,” Keith coos teasingly. “Are you worried about me or something?”

“ _Yes._ ”   
  
There’s an exacerbated seriousness to Shiro’s tone that promptly shuts Keith up.  
  
“Ok … I’ll be careful,” Keith says as he ducks head to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.  
  
As Keith begins to leave, Shiro summons enough guts to reach out for him, placing his hand firmly on the other man’s shoulder. He almost loses his nerve but Keith’s curious expression calms him.  
  
“Keith I uh…” Shiro stutters for a moment before finding his voice. “Thanks … I needed to hear that.  
  
Keith smiles warmly, leaning into the touch.  
  
“Yeah … you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll admit that when writing this I didn’t go super in depth with my research. I just did this for funsies. But I did try to get a general idea of how Shiro‘s prosthetic would work and any mobility issues he’d have because of it. And in doing my research I saw a lot of success stories. I read about soldiers who really bounced back from their injuries and even ended up going back to active duty. So many videos and articles were of people who were happy and healthy, living full productive lives that it made me think ‘Oh crap. Maybe I’m not writing Shiro’s reaction realistically’. But I also realized that there must be just as many people you don’t just get on with their lives so easily. Who do fall into slumps. After all, not everyone reacts to trauma the same way. That being said, I hope Shiro and Keith’s reactions don’t seem too bitter or unrealistic. orz


	13. Day 33

For Shiro, the days pass like a trickling stream. Constant. Reliable. Peaceful. But with a hint of anticipation for what’s waiting just around the bend. Not like before, with one day blurring into the next, an endless drone of time, viscous and slow, like slogging through molasses. Now, he greets each day with a sense of enthusiasm and dare he say … hope.

When Keith and Shiro finish their latest session, it’s late afternoon and the sun has already begun its lazy descent.

Shiro stretches, releasing any remaining tension as he rolls his shoulders and flashes Keith a satisfied smile. Beside him, Keith leans against the warm canyon wall and crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head as his eyes scan Shiro for any sign of discomfort.   
  
“How do you feel?”

“Pretty good,” Shiro sighs, raising an eyebrow when he catches the mischievous glint in Keith’s eyes. “… Why?”

Keith’s eyes practically sparkle as his face splits into a grin. “I’ve got something to show you.”

\--------------------

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Can I at least open my eyes?”

“No, it’ll ruin the big reveal!”

“I just don’t want to run into any more trees.”

“It was just the _one_ tree. And it was an accident!”  
  
Shiro snorts, but continues to be led by Keith. The younger man’s hands are planted firmly on Shiro’s shoulders, guiding him up the path and avoiding obstacles … for the most part. The press of Keith’s hands is like a brand, making Shiro’s skin buzz with an antsy, almost giddy energy that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with. Instead of dwelling on these feelings, Shiro shifts his attention to his other senses and attempts to establish his surroundings.

He can hear birdsongs and the wind rustling though some trees. Against his calves he can feel tall, dry grass occasionally brushing his exposed skin and the warmth of the sun on his left side.  
  
_We must be heading north._  
  
Taking a deep breath, he savors the dusty, sweet scent surrounding them, like hay drying in the afternoon heat.

He’s about to pull another _‘are we there yet’_ , when Keith suddenly jerks him to a stop.  
  
“Oooookaaaaayyyyyy … open!” Keith orders as his hands slip from Shiro’s shoulders in an almost caressing manner, forcing Shiro to repress a shiver.  
  
Ignoring the cold void left by Keith’s hands, Shiro slowly blinks. After adjusting to the sudden brightness, Shiro’s eyes widen at the sight of an old boarded up cabin right in front of him.  
  
“Woah.”

“Pretty cool huh?” Keith grins mischievously, sidling up beside him. “It belonged to a witch “  
  
Arching an eyebrow, Shiro shoots him an incredulous look before cautiously approaching the deserted building.

The small structure was obviously abandoned a long time ago, with boarded up windows and several planks on the porch rotten and sagging. On the roof creaks an old rusted weathervane with an eagle or possibly hawk decoration perched on top, keeping vigil over the decaying building.

As Shiro surveys the cabin Keith weaves his tale about witch who would lure unsuspecting travelers and turn them into ravenous beasts.  
  
“Is that your explanation for all the missing hikers?” Shiro says dryly.

“It’s better that bears,” Keith retorts.

“True.”  
  
Taking a step forward, Shiro gently grabs the doorknob and twists. The handle holds fast, rusted in place.  
  
“Want me to try?” Keith offers, knuckles brushing Shiro’s as he reaches for the knob.

“No, no,” Shiro quickly says, stubbornly shooing Keith away. “I got it.”  
  
Smirking, Keith obeys, taking a step back and folding his arms across his chest. With furrowed brows, Shiro rams his shoulder into the door causing both him and it to fall with a resounding thud, kicking dust and ash into the air.   
  
“Oh god,” Keith giggles breathily, the delightful sound hardly muffled by the hand covering his mouth. “You ok?”

Shiro coughs as the dust settles and shoots Keith a sheepish smile. “Door’s open.”

“Mmm, my hero,” Keith chuckles as he grabs Shiro’s forearm, easily pulling the older man to his feet.  
  
With a smirk, Keith releases Shiro’s arm, too soon for the Shiro’s liking, and walks around him, burnt wood crunching beneath his feet. As Shiro looks around, he can’t help but notice that both the windows and door were boarded up from the inside rather than the outside like he would expect.

A low whistle draws his attention back to Keith who is standing where the far wall used to be, having at some point been completely burnt down. Shiro makes his way over and peers down the steep drop. Where the deck used to be are a few remaining steps that connect to a narrow, rocky trail leading down to a field below. There are several phone poles dotting the landscape and Shiro quickly recognizes the area he’d gotten lost in on his first day.

As his eyes scan the rest of the interior with greater scrutiny his gaze falls on what appears to be a burnt up fire-finder tucked in the corner of the room.  
  
“This must have been an old fire lookout,” Shiro says, crouching to examine the ruined equipment.  
  
_So much for Keith’s witch story._  
  
“That would explain the precarious location,” he continues, looking over his shoulder at the gaping hole in the wall. “Must have been nice place before it was destroyed,” he muses sadly. “What do you think Keith?”  
  
Only silence answers, causing Shiro’s brow to furrow as he turns around.

Finding Keith nowhere in sight, he spots a stairway situated in the far right corner of the cabin that leads to a lower level and approaches it. The cabin is illuminated in a blood red haze caused by the setting sun which casts an eerie beam down the stairway as Shiro begins his decent.

A few shattered planks litter the floor and hang loosely from the ceiling, like the lower level had at one point been boarded up from the inside and broken into. The steps creak under his weight and the muffled shriek of the wind outside only adds to the creepy atmosphere that has Shiro shuddering involuntarily.

A few yards to the left of the stairs is an old mattress with rusty springs poking from the shredded fabric.  Above the bed is a broken window where a tree root has wormed its way inside, unimpeded by glass. It looks like a hand, with gnarled fingers creeping down the wall to the bed, reaching menacingly for innocent victims as they slumber.  Across from foot of the bed, in the corner, is old wood stove as well as a bookshelf and chair, where he sees Keith crouching and squinting at the wall. Keith exhales sharply before rummaging through his bag, pulling out his journal and pencil.

“Keith?” Shiro calls softly, not wanting to startle the other man as he draws closer.

Ignoring his companion, Keith tears a few pages from the notebook and presses them to the wall, gently dragging lead over paper.  Shiro crouches beside him, eyes narrowing as he tries to make out whatever Keith is seeing. With a frown, Shiro digs through his pack, fishing out the old flashlight. It takes a moment, but the flashlight soon flickers to life and he holds it over the pages when Keith finishes.

“What the …” Shiro murmurs in a hushed voice.  
  
Now that he has a steady source of light, Shiro can make out several words. Each more disturbing than the last.  
  
_THEY’RE REAL_

_IN THE WOODS_

_RUN_

_AFTER ME_

_OUT GET OUT GET OU_

_KILL THEM AL_

_BURN THEM OUT_

_  
_ “Did you know about this?” He asks cautiously.

“No!” Keith says emphatically, shaking his head hard enough to send darks locks flying. “I just made up that story to mess with you. I hadn’t even stepped inside until you broke the door down.”

“I believe you,” Shiro assures him, making the younger man relax slightly before turning back to the pages with a frown.  
  
After handing the light to Keith, Shiro unclips his radio.  
  
“Hey, is anyone there?”

“Shiro, Shiro, Shiro,” Lance drawls. “You don’t call, you don’t write. A guy’s likely to develop a complex!”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “What’s the story with the burnt up lookout cabin?”

“Aaaaaah Hawk’s Rest,” Lance hums conspiratorially.

Shiro sighs. “Are you gonna do this every time?”

Ignoring Shiro’s indifference, Lance continues. “Years ago, a Vietnam War vet took a lookout job at Hawk’s Rest. His name was Hendrick, and he was an angry, angry loner,” Lance narrates ominously. “Unlike the other lookouts, he stayed year round.  Everyone thought he was crazy.”  
  
Frowning, Shiro turns to Keith who wears a similarly disgruntled expression.  
  
“After a while, old Hendrick started … _seeing_ things …”

“What kind of things?”

“ _Monsters_. Huge beasts in the woods. He ended up burning down half the forest trying to smoke ‘em out.”

“Was he ever arrested?”

“That’s just it … they never found the body, ooOOO–”  
  
Lance’s ominous vocalizing is cut off by Allura’s chiding voice.   
  
“Lance it’s not funny it’s … sad,” she says, voice growing solemn and soft.

“So it _is_ true,” Shiro presses, brows furrowing.

“Well … yes …” she slowly admits. “But it’s not something to joke about. He was a tortured man.”

She sighs, almost ruefully. “A lot of people come out here to run from their demons and sometimes … those demons follow them.”  
  
While Allura talks, Shiro’s eyes dart to Keith who wears a hard expression, papers crumpling around the edges as his grip on them tightens. Standing abruptly, Keith shoves the papers and journal back into his bag as he makes his way up the stairs while Shiro follows close behind.

When they emerge, Shiro scans the area and pulls out his map, carefully marking the cabin’s location. As they make their way down the trail Keith speaks up after being strangely quiet.  
  
“What do you guys need these electrical wires for anyway?” He gripes, indicating at the many poles dotting the landscape. “Don’t you guys have generators?”

“Those are actually phone lines,” Shiro explains. “It’s how Allura communicates with the Service.”  
  
Staring at the lines with renewed interest, Keith’s brows pinch together with thought.  
  
“So without them … you’re basically screwed.”

“Well … yeah, I guess.”   
  
 Shiro hadn’t really thought about it before, but now that he is, the very notion is … unnerving.  
  
“How long would it take for anyone to notice?”

“Notice what?” Shiro asks, yanked from his disconcerting train of thought.

“That you’re out of contact.”

“I don’t really know … Maybe Allura has to check in everyday?” Shiro offers weakly.

“You are so bad at this,” Keith chuckles, shaking his head.

“Shuddup,” Shiro huffs, but there’s no venom in his words.  
  
Keith walks up to one of the poles, eyes narrowing as they climb its length.  
  
“Seriously though, they spoil the view,” Keith pouts, arms folding over his chest. “All I need is an axe and – _Timber!_ – Everyone would be free of these eyesores.”

“Ugh. Don’t even joke like that,” Shiro shudders. “How would we communicate with the Service? And don’t say smoke signals.”

“You’ve got your radios right?”

Shiro frowns. “I don’t think they’re strong enough.”  
  
Keith hums loudly, tapping his finger to his lips as the corner of his mouth twitches with a smirk.  
  
“Hmmm … nudist teens … potential for being cut off from civilization… a crazy old man who _supposedly_ died –” Keith pauses to gasp dramatically, hands pressed to his cheeks as he turns to the older man with a grin. “You’re in a slasher flick Shiro.”

Shiro grimaces. “Well I wouldn’t know, seeing as I don’t really like those kinds of films.”

“What?” Keith gapes. “Why not?”

“I just don’t see the appeal.”

“Oh c’mon! There’s loads of appeal!” Keith insists, easily vaulting over a log lying across the path.

“Why would you _purposefully_ watch something that scares you?” Shiro argues, following close behind.

Keith pauses for a moment before shrugging. “For fun?”

“Well, it’s not _my_ idea of fun.” Shiro huffs. “I’ve never been good with scary movies. When I was little I cried watching The Wizard of Oz because I was so afraid of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Oh no!” Keith giggles, a sound Shiro hopes to hear more of. “Well what _do_ you like to watch then?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Shiro’s mouth as he purses his lips. “Hmmm, let me think …”

\--------------------

The relative silence of evening is filled with Shiro’s low voice as he recounts childhood stories and punctuated by Keith’s occasional peals of laughter which bring a satisfied grin to Shiro’s face, encouraging him to draw more laughter from the other man.

“When I was eleven –”

“Did anything _not_ happen to you when you were eleven?”

“No. Now hush.”  
  
Keith chuckles, but allows Shiro to continue.

“When I was eleven there was this stream in the woods behind our house, pretty decent size too. One day, I had this _bright_ idea to make a raft and float it down the stream. So my brother and I get to work gathering any big sticks and branches we found lying around, and tied them together with some rope. I decide to try it out first, for safety of course.”

“Of course.”

“So I’m floating along at a decent clip when I notice the ropes are starting to come loose. Around the same time, the current starts to speed up.”

Keith’s eyes widen.

“Luckily there was a low hanging branch over what was now more like a river. I leapt up just as the raft broke apart and I clung to that branch for dear life until my dad came and got me down.”

“I guess the Navy wasn’t for you huh?” Keith chuckles.

“No,” Shiro chuckles as well. “However, that never stopped me in my misguided belief that I always knew what was best. One Summer –”

“When you were eleven,” Keith supplies with a grin.

“Yes, when I was eleven, we went to Japan to visit some relatives. Now it just so happened that they lived by the coast and my brother and I had never been to the ocean before, so we were pretty excited. So, we’re wandering around, lifting rocks and kidnapping crabs, when see this rocky outcropping and we think – _Oh! That’s pretty cool. Let’s check that out!_ – Unfortunately, we didn’t take into account the rising tide.”

“Uh oh.”

“So there we were, screaming our heads off, Ryou bawling his eyes out, until a neighbor heard us and rescued us with his boat. I couldn’t sit for a week after my dad got his hands on me,” Shiro chuckles, shaking his head at the memory while Keith grimaces in sympathy.

“Do any of your stories _not_ involve you nearly drowning?”

“Very few.”  
  
Despite the threat of being engulfed by the coming darkness of night, they stroll casually through the canyon as it is blanketed in shadow. As they walk, Shiro lets his shoulder occasionally bump Keith’s, just another excuse to touch him.

By the time they reach Shiro’s tower the sun is just barely peeking over mountains, bidding farewell as stars begin to take center stage, faintly twinkling in preparation for the night ahead. A few stubborn rays pierce through the trees, casting a rosy haze over the pair as they stop short of the clearing surrounding Shiro’s tower. That must be the explanation for the way Keith’s face practically glows as he smiles fondly at Shiro.  
  
“Well, this is where I take my leave,” Keith announces.

“Thanks, that was fun,” Shiro says as the corner of his mouth tugs into a teasing smirk. “Even if I did run into a tree.”

“Just one!” Keith exclaims with a pout.  
  
Shiro lets out a deep laugh while Keith shakes head, trying to hide a smile.  
  
“See you tomorrow?”  Keith asks the question tentatively, like there’s still a chance Shiro will refuse. As if that’s even possible.  
  
“Of course,” Shiro says fondly, placing his hand on Keith’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.  
  
Biting his lower lip, Keith smiles back in a way that has Shiro’s stomach doing flips, taking a few backward steps before slowly turning around and heading down the trail.

As Keith slips from his grasp and out of view, Shiro watches, hand still outstretched, hovering in position. With a shuddery breath, Shiro draws his hand back to clutch at his chest, crumpling the fabric between his fingers.

There’s that ache again, now coupled with a desire to touch Keith – no – to hold him. To feel his comforting warmth just one more time.

Shaking his head, Shiro tries not to think about it and quickly makes his way to his tower.

\--------------------

After finishing his nightly ritual of push-ups to the point of exhaustion, he turns off the light and heads to bed. However, before he can slip beneath the sheets, he sees a flicker of light in the woods. He presses close to the window, eyes narrowed as he scans the area.

Yes. There. There it is again.

He plucks the radio from its cradle, keeping his eyes trained on the moving lights as they fade from sight.  
  
“Hey, is anyone up?”

“I’m here,” Allura answers.

“I’m seeing some movement out here.”

“What kind of movement?”

“Lights in the trees … it’s probably just campers, but I thought you should know.”

“Thank you Shiro, I’ll keep an eye out on my end.”

“Should I go and check it out?”

“No, please don’t leave you tower at night. I’m not willing to risk your safety for that of a few idiotic hikers,” She says firmly, but obviously filled with concern.

“Ok … got it.”   
  
He’s about to drop the radio back into its cradle when Allura speaks up.  
  
“Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“… You …” She hesitantly trails off before taking a deep breath. “You’re not … angry with me … are you?”  
  
Shiro’s brows furrow with confusion.   
  
_Angry?_

_Angry about what?_  
  
“I … I’m not angry with you,” Shiro says plainly, his face still contorted with puzzlement.

“Really? Are you sure?” She continues with amusing urgency.

Shiro can’t help the huff of a laugh that slips past his lips. “Yes.”   
  
All in all, Allura is a good boss, one of the best he’s ever had. Even if she is a bit of a control freak.  
  
“Oh good,” she sighs with relief.   
  
_How long has this been bothering her?_  
  
“It’s just that … you haven’t been checking in all that much lately. Even Lance has noticed that you’ve been … distant. I was beginning to worry.”  
  
Shiro’s brows arch high.  
  
_Distant?_

_Really?_  
  
He thinks back, tapping the radio to his lips as his brows press together. Between the therapy sessions, sparring, and Keith’s wilderness trivia he hadn’t really _needed_ to talk to the other lookouts. It feels like just yesterday he was dragging Keith off the fence and taking a right hook to the face.

Shiro chuckles at the memory, rubbing his temple with a strange fondness not really suited for the situation.

While he hates keeping Keith a secret, he doesn’t feel regret, not in the slightest. If he had listened to Allura and turned Keith in, he would have never gotten to know the other man.  He would have never known what Keith sounds like when he laughs or the adorable way he pouts when he’s concentrating or seen the spark in his eyes when he perfects a new move. He would have never known how soft and kind Keith’s voice could be or how gentle and warm his fingers are.

Just the thought makes him shiver at the memory of tender touches.

It honestly surprises Shiro when he realizes just how much of an intrinsic part of his everyday life Keith has become.

His thoughts wander back to what Lance and Allura said about the lookout at Hawk’s Rest.  
  
_Angry loner._

_Tortured man._

_Running from demons._  
  
All phrases uncomfortably close to describing Shiro from a month ago. A bitter veteran shutting out the world. Alone and afraid of everything and everyone. He never thought that one person could change so much in such a short amount of time.

With a sigh and a soft smile, he lifts the radio to his lips.   
  
“You know what you said earlier … about demons?”

“…Yes?”

His smile widens. “I’ve been doing some … _exorcisms_ if you will.”

“I see,” Allura says softly and Shiro can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m glad.  
  
He places the radio back in its charger and returns to bed, slipping between the sheets with a contented sigh. Just as he’s teetering on precipice of sleep, he hears a distant percussive sound that jerks him back to wakefulness. His eyes shoot open and his brows pinch together.

There it is again.

Sitting up with eyes narrowed, he waits. Again, almost like clockwork, there’s another knock. The knocking continues for several minutes and Shiro wracks his brain for an explanation.

Someone chopping down trees? But why? Besides, he hasn’t heard the tell-tale crash of a felled tree, so that can’t be it.

Shiro’s teeth grind with irritation as the slow, obnoxious tempo tattoos itself onto his brain. Maybe it’s the world’s loudest woodpecker and it just _happened_ to move in next to him. Shiro flops back and groans. Must be the world’s slowest woodpecker too, judging by the long pauses between each knock. Rolling onto his stomach, Shiro slides his head under his pillow with an irritated growl that’s stifled by the mattress.

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My homophobic brother while Beta'ing this: Aww, Keith’s walking Shiro home :)
> 
> Me: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Fun facts: Shiro's story about the wizard of oz was based off of something my mom told me about her brother, and the story about the raft happened to my dad, except in his case he was placed on the raft by his shitty older brothers.


	14. Day 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Shiro, you're hopeless.

Light and shadow float across Shiro’s eyelids as he indulges in a late afternoon nap. Long forgotten, his book rests on his chest, bobbing up and down to the slow rhythm of his measured breaths. Birdsong and the occasional buzzing of insects fills the warm air with nature's music, accompanied by the gentle swishing of grass  as it sways in the breeze.

Something soft and warm caresses Shiro's forehead, brushing his pale bangs off his face. With a soft whimper, he slowly blinks open heavy lids to see Keith leaning over him with a fond expression on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs.

“S’okay,” Shiro slurs groggily.

He lazily sits up, causing the book to slide onto his lap as he stretches with a yawn that makes his jaw crack loudly.

“Careful, you’re gonna suck up planets with that black hole,” Keith teases.

Shiro rubs his eye and chuckles. “Sorry, didn’t sleep too well last night.”

Keith’s brows draw together and the corners of his mouth fall.

“Nightmares?” He asks gently.

The soft concern in Keith’s voice makes Shiro melt and he shakes his head. “Thankfully, no. I’ve just been having trouble with some woodpeckers or … something.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow. “Woodpeckers?”

“Yeah, _‘knock … knock … knock'_  . All. Night. Long.” Shiro groans.

Keith chuckles. “You have my sympathy.”

“Is that all?” Shiro pouts.

“Yep, just sympathy. Maybe you could use the headphones to help muffle it.”

“Maybe,” Shiro hums, slipping a blade of grass between the pages of his book.

“What’cha readin’?” Keith inquires, letting their shoulders brush as he leans in for a peek.

With a smile Shiro holds the book up for Keith’s inspection.

“Tears of the Balmera,” Keith hums, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s about the natives that used to live in the area and their customs,” Shiro explains.

“Looks like you’re almost done,” Keith says, indicating at the few pages left.

Shiro nods and sets the book aside. “I’m at the part where the majority of the population was wiped out by some bizarre disease, so obviously there’s not a whole lot left to write about.”

“What caused it?”

“They don’t know. By the time explorers arrived the disease had already taken its toll.”

“The white people didn’t kill them off? That’s a first,” Keith says dryly.

Shiro chuckles and stands up, dusting off seat of pants before turning to Keith with a smile.

“Ready?”

Grinning, Keith quickly jumps to his feet.

“Always.”

\--------------------

Sweat drips into Shiro’s eyes and beads at his upper lip, muscles aching with exertion. It’s uncomfortable, sticky and prickly, and it feels like the sun is baking him alive. And yet, he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Keith’s arms are wrapped around his neck, pressing their bodies flush together. He can feel Keith’s hot, wet breath on his neck. He swallows thickly.

Or at least he tries to. It’s rather difficult with Keith’s vice-like grip choking him into submission.

While Shiro realizes that getting the life choked out of you would normally be considered uncomfortable, terrifying even, he’s beginning to find it strangely intimate. He enjoys it so much that he refrains from tapping out longer than necessary, just to feel Keith next to him. It’s probably a poor substitute for real affection, but at this point he’ll take what he can get. Especially since there’s no way he can just go up to Keith and ask for a hug.

The very though sends an embarrassed flush to his cheeks that he hope Keith will mistake for exertion.  
  
“Yield,” Keith hisses through grit teeth, sending another puff of warm air right to Shiro’s reddening ear.

“ … I yield,” Shiro reluctantly chokes out.  
  
With a sigh, Keith’s grip loosens as he slumps against Shiro, cheek pressed to the older man’s shoulder while his arms hang limply around Shiro’s neck. Even as Keith’s panting slowly evens out, Shiro can still feel it through the fabric of his shirt, sending sparks up his spine. He knows that, objectively, it should feel disgusting. Sweat and heat radiating off their bodies, pressed flush together. And yet …

Ever since the younger man had first reached out to him, caressing him with a tenderness he’d forgotten existed, he’d grown to crave Keith’s touch. No matter how fleeting. Even now, every impact, strike or hold, no matter how painful, leaves him wanting. He wants everything Keith will give him. He’s being greedy. He knows it. But he can’t stop.

Shiro stares up at the sky as his own breathing evens out, sweat dripping down his temple.  
  
_When did I become so hopeless?_  
  
With a sigh, Shiro closes his eyes and slowly flops backward, trapping Keith under his weight.  
  
“Hey! Get off!” Keith grunts, giving Shiro a sharp smack.  
  
The older man just smirks. He doesn’t need to see pout on Keith face; he can hear it in his voice. With a huff, Keith tucks his chin between Shiro’s neck and shoulder, glowering at the man above him.

Suddenly, Shiro feels the soft press of lips to his flushed skin and his eyes snap open, breath catching in his throat. A tickly vibration prickles at his skin as Keith blows a wet raspberry against his neck.

With a yelp Shiro rolls off, laughing into the grass as his whole body trembles with mirth. Keith gives him a kick but it’s weak, with no real malice behind it.  
  
“You got one more round in you?” Keith goads, tapping Shiro’s leg teasingly.  
  
Ignoring the possible double entendre, Shiro chuckles weakly, peeking at Keith out of the corner of his eye. The other man’s face is flushed with a striking shade of pink, spreading across his cheeks and down his chest, hidden by the shirt plastered to his lean torso. Out of context, the confidant look on Keith’s face could almost be mistaken for flirtatious, with hooded lids and a soft smirk tugging at his mouth.

Shiro’s eyes settle on Keith’s lips. Rosy and full. Warm.

_Kissable._

The thought is as pleasant as it is shocking, and Shiro is momentarily stunned. Frozen in place. Breath lodged in his throat.

Tearing his gaze away, Shiro pushes himself onto his feet, willing his stuttering heart to calm. He buys more time by dusting off his knees and the seat of his pants before getting into position. With a sharp exhale, Shiro forces himself to focus on the task at hand, shoving these intrusive thoughts to back of mind to be dealt with later, or better yet, _never_.

Right off the bat, Keith swings his leg at Shiro who instinctively backs away. They circle each other slowly, like predator and prey. Though, who is the predator and who is the prey is uncertain. At least at first.

The sight of Keith’s flushed face, and heaving chest sparks something deep inside Shiro, lighting a fire low in his belly.

Impulsively, Shiro lunges, leading Keith to throw another kick that easily connects with Shiro’s unprotected ribs. Shiro stumbles back and grits his teeth. He’d abandoned the padding long ago, not wanting anything to come between him and Keith.

Competitive intensity brightens Keith’s dark eyes, bleeding into the confident smile tugging at rosy cheeks.

Shiro swallows thickly. He can’t take eyes off Keith even if he wanted to. There’s something about the way Keith stares at him that sends shivers down his spine. Every brush of skin and roll of hips makes Shiro burn, intensifying when Keith tackles him to the ground. The pair collapse into a pile, tension seeping from their heavy limbs as their breathing steadily evens out.

The seconds tick by, and Keith remains sprawled across Shiro’s body. He folds his arms over Shiro’s chest, tucking them beneath his chin as he smirks lazily, showing no indication of moving.

Shiro freezes.

He should feel happy – content. After all, he’s getting exactly what he wants by having so much of Keith touching him, draped over him like a security blanket, satisfying the greedier parts of his nature.

But right now, it just feels dangerous, like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge, terrified of the plunge yet intrigued by what awaits him after the fall.

His fingers twitch. ~~~~

He wants to run them up and down Keith’s sides, make him sigh with contentment. He wants to rest them at Keith’s waist and let his thumb rub soothing circles into sharp hipbones until he falls asleep, lulled by the metered beating of Shiro’s heart.

He wants so much. Too much. More that Keith could ever be willing to give him.

Above him, Keith lets out a contented sigh, breath warm and wet on Shiro’s collarbone, drawing him from his inner turmoil. Even in the presence of Keith’s relaxed aura, Shiro’s unease doesn’t abate, growing more intense with each passing second, gnawing at his nerves till they fray.

Unable to take it any longer, Shiro shoots Keith a lopsided smile that he hopes – no, _prays_ – comes off as causal and teasing.  
  
“You should probably start heading back to camp. It’s getting late.”  
  
Keith’s lazy smile falls as his drooping eyelids rise.  
  
“It’s not _that_ late,” he argues, pouting adorably.

“Maybe not, but some of us haven’t been getting our 8 hours,” Shiro teases lightly; resisting the urge to brush the sweaty strands of hair off Keith’s flushed face.

Keith’s eyes widen. “Oh … right.”

The younger man quickly pulls off Shiro, too quickly, like he’d been burned. Keith uneasily tugs at the hem of his shirt, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear before hurriedly collecting his belongings.

“You did really well today, Keith. Especially on that guillotine sweep,” Shiro says hastily, not wanting Keith to leave on a low note.

Keith smiles at the compliment, but it’s weak, not his usual beam of pride. After shouldering his bag, Keith turns to Shiro with brows drawn together.  
  
“See you tomorrow?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yep,” Shiro says a bit too stiffly and flashes Keith a smile, hoping the younger man doesn’t take his sudden brusqueness personally.

Still frowning, Keith gives him a small, awkward wave goodbye before heading off. Once Keith is out of sight, Shiro’s smile falls and he flops back with a groan. He stares blankly as the sky is overtaken with golden hues while tumultuous thoughts swirl around in his head. With a heavy sigh he throws his arm across his face.

He’s grown too comfortable in these past weeks. Too brazen.

Oh, it started innocently enough. A hand on the shoulder, a ruffling of hair.  But his touches have started to linger, more closely resembling tender caresses than simple skinship between friends. If he’s not careful, he’ll scare Keith away. After all, someone as independent as Keith would surely grow tired of Shiro’s constant clinginess eventually. Although … Keith grows more open with each passing day, reciprocating Shiro’s attention and occasionally, such as today, even instigating contact.

Shiro scrubs his hand down his face to rest over his mouth, brows drawn low as a spark of optimism flickers to life in his chest.

Maybe … maybe this won’t be a problem after all. As long as Keith’s alright with it, things are fine.

 

Right?


	15. Day 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these boys so much ;-;
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments and kudos. I love seeing everyone's thoughts and theories and which part y'all like the best ❤

“I don’t think thumb wrestling counts as a proper substitute for actual wrestling,” Keith slurs drowsily, long lashes brushing rosy cheeks as his eyelids flutter in their struggle to remain open.

“‘s too hot, you’ll get heatstroke,” Shiro mumbles, thumb poised to strike as it hovers next to Keith’s. “Think of it as … strategy training.”

It’s a reasonable enough excuse, and _definitely_ has nothing to do with the fact that Shiro may or may not still be grappling with his newly realized clinginess.

“Also, it’s your turn.”

“Alright, alright,” Keith chuckles before his brows pinch together with thought. “I … am ambidextrous.”

“Obviously,” Shiro huffs teasingly as the pad his thumb presses against Keith’s in a battle for dominance.

He can feel every callous on Keith’s long finger as they brush, the soft leather of his gloves and the heat of his palm sending pleasant sparks up Shiro’s arm, distracting him. Narrowing his eyes, Shiro’s tries to divide his attention between the battle quite literally at hand and the conversation. “Umm … cats are my favorite animal.”

Keith snorts. “Boo. Boring.”

“What?” Shiro cries indignantly.

“I thought we were supposed to be telling each other _interesting_ facts about ourselves.”

“Well what’s your favorite animal then?”

There’s a brief pause as Keith purses his lips. “… Hippos.”

With a loud laugh, Shiro buries his face into the crook of his arm, allowing Keith to get the upper hand, trapping Shiro’s thumb.

 “Your favorite animal … is the _hippo_?” Shiro manages between sniggers.

“Shut up,” Keith huffs, withdrawing his arm to fold it under his chin. “You told me that your favorite color is _violet_.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Just say purple you big dummy!” Keith chuckles, giving the older man a playful slap.

“Ok, ok,” Shiro concedes with a smirk, tucking his arms beneath his chin. “Hippos are cool.”

Keith’s lips curve into a pleased smile that Shiro can’t help but match. “Thank you. Your turn.”

“Ok, uh … I had my appendix removed when I was thirteen.”

“Are you sure you weren’t eleven?” Keith teases with a grin.

“Positive.”

“I have a slight silver allergy.”

“I was born on February 29th.”

Keith frowns.

“What’s so special about – Oh! You’re a leap year baby!” Keith beams, features quickly settling into smirk. “That makes you, what … 8? 9?”

 “27,” Shiro says flatly.

“Really?” Keith says, brows arching. “You look older.”

“Oh?”

“It’s probably the hair.”

“O-oh …” Shiro mumbles, tugging at his bangs self consciously.

“Yeah. Makes you look more mature.”

“Really?” He brightens, twisting the fringe with renewed interest.

“Yeah, it’s that silver fox kinda look. Very hot,” Keith states far too casually.

A hot flush rises to Shiro’s cheeks and chest as he clears his throat.

“Uh, how old are you?” He asks, hating the way he stutters.

“22.”

 “… Huh …” is all Shiro can manage as his brows furrow with thought.

Keith must have gone straight to college as soon as he graduated high-school.  Shiro can relate, having joined the army as soon as humanly possible just to get away from his parents only to trade one set of rules for another.

“Too young?” Keith asks hastily, his uneasy expression quickly morphing into a sly grin. “Or too old?”

Shiro quickly turns a shade of red he had no idea the human face was capable of producing as he stammers. “Oh no! It’s just right.”

 _Maybe Keith isn’t the only one who’s easy to tease._  
  
“Are you ok?” Keith asks suddenly, tilting his head to the side. “You look flushed.”

Before he can answer, Keith presses a hand to Shiro’s cheek, causing the older man’s eyes to widen.

“It’s uh … it’s just really hot out, that’s all,” Shiro manages, willing his heated face to cool.

Pursing his lips, Keith retracts his hand, much to Shiro’s dismay and relief, and pushes himself to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Shiro asks as Keith begins to walk away.

The younger man turns on his heel, continuing backwards as he calls out, “You said it yourself, it’s too hot for sparring. C’mon.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Shiro dutifully gathers their belongings and follows Keith as he makes his way down the trail to the lake. When Shiro finally breaches the foliage choking the path, he’s met with the sight of Keith tearing off his clothing.

Shiro manages to catch a glimpse of toned abs before jerking his gaze away.

“What are you –”

Confused, Keith cocks his head adorably to the side before chuckling in realization.

“I thought we could take a dip in the lake,” he explains as he kicks his pants aside, causing the sharp clinking of his belt to ring in Shiro’s reddening ears. “I don’t see why you’re so shy all the sudden, I’m wearing more than the first time we met,” he teases, giving the elastic band of his underwear a quick snap.

Shiro’s eyes drop momentarily to the bright red boxer-briefs hugging Keith’s slim frame before darting away.  
  
“I’m not shy,” Shiro glowers, turning to fix his eyes firmly on Keith’s.

“Good,” Keith smirks as he slips his thumbs beneath the waistband and begins to tug downward.

“Woah, woah, WOAH!” Shiro throws his arms up, partly to protect Keith’s honor, but mostly to hide the deep blush darkening his cheeks. “This isn’t a nudist colony Keith! There are rules!”

Keith rolls his eyes but obediently pulls his underwear back into position.

“Fine, but this is gonna ruin my tan,” he huffs almost teasingly, sauntering toward a large outcropping of boulders jutting several yards into the lake. 

 ~~~~Once in position atop the tallest rock, Keith removes his necklace, which seems to have a somewhat bulky ring attached it, and places it carefully on the rock, but doesn't bother to take off his gloves.

_Weird ..._

But then again, a lot of things about Keith are weird. His observation is cut short however as Keith calls to him.

“Hey Shiro! Watch this!” He grins before gracefully diving into the lake.

When Keith emerges, Shiro claps, trying his best to ignore the way his heart stutters as the younger man flips his hair in an elegant arch.

“How’s the water?”

“Freezing!” Keith shivers slightly for emphasis before the temperature shock slowly wears off.

“Well, considering how hot it’s been I guess it’s a fair trade,” Shiro says, fanning himself with Keith’s old cap.

“Now it’s your turn!” Keith smirks playfully, making his way closer to shore.

“Oh uh … I’m not exactly waterproof,” Shiro says, lifting his prosthetic meaningfully.

“Can’t you take it off?” Keith frowns, combing his fingers through his wet hair.

“Well … yeah…” Shiro shifts uneasily.

With the exception of his family or doctors, he’s never removed his prosthetic in front of anyone, to say nothing of his clothes. The thought of others seeing the expanse of scars marring his body makes his stomach churn.

He’s startled from his melancholy thoughts when Keith splashes him.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!” Keith beams encouragingly.

Shiro stares at Keith’s happy and expectant face. The same face that contorted in righteous anger over the injustices dealt to him, the same face that looked at him not with pity, but with sympathy and fondness, the same face that didn’t see a broken war hero, but a man, just a man.

Setting his jaw, Shiro begins working on the buttons of his uniform, hand shaking with nerves. He peeks up to see Keith lazily floating on the surface with eyes closed, a patient smile on face. Shiro recognizes the gesture as Keith’s way of giving him a moment of privacy to work himself up to the task at hand.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he quickly shrugs the shirt off. He removes his prosthetic with greater care, easing it off gently and carefully setting it down. Ignoring the anxious twisting of his gut, he moves on to his belt and shorts, hurriedly shucking them along with his socks and shoes before he can lose his nerve.

A spark of optimism shoots through him as he timidly approaches the shore. Maybe he can do this after all.

However, his confidence swiftly dwindles when he catches his refection in the water lapping at the shore. His stomach drops at the sight, eyes flitting over the many scars littering his body. Instinctively, his left hand comes up to grip his right bicep, squeezing at the mottled flesh as if trying to hide it from view. Without the prosthetic he feels exposed, vulnerable, to say nothing of his clothes. He swallows thickly as anxiety settles in his stomach, squirming and writhing.

Before Shiro can lose himself to the feeling, Keith’s cheeky voice once again pulls him back from the dark.

“I wondered if you were a boxers or briefs kind of guy.”

Blinking a few times, Shiro looks down at the black boxers hanging from his hips and shrugs.

“Mystery solved,” he chuckles awkwardly, taking a cautious step forward.

Keith’s hands fly out of the water, waving in front of him as he cries out, “No don’t!”

“What?!” Shiro recoils, taking a few panicked steps back.

“You have to jump in!” Keith insists.

Shiro’s brows pinch together. “Isn’t it better to ease into it?”

Keith shakes his head violently, droplets flying off the long strands of hair. “No. It’s like a Band-Aid. You gotta just rip it off!”

“Fine,” Shiro concedes with a huff. “Whatever makes you happy.”

After climbing up the rock outcropping Shiro nervously peers down. His toes curl around the edge of the boulder. The water looks so far away.

“Don’t worry. It’s plenty deep, so feel free to dive right in,” Keith assures him.

“I’m more of a belly flop kinda guy.”

“Just jump already!”

Shiro steps back a few feet before running and launching himself off.

“CANONBAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!!”

There’s a tremendous splash as Shiro plunges into the crystalline water, causing Keith to whoop enthusiastically when the waves carry him a few feet away. Shiro soon emerges, teeth chattering as icy water drips down his face.

“Holy shit you weren’t kidding! The water’s freezing!”

Keith swims up next to him, gleefully laughing at his friend’s discomfort. Shiro narrows his eyes at Keith and with a pretend scowl, gives the other man a playful splash. Gaping in mock horror, Keith returns the gesture. A giddy laugh bubbles in Shiro’s chest as he throws his arm up to shield himself from the watery onslaught before retaliating in kind. Keith ducks beneath the dark water like a minnow and Shiro spins in place, trying to get a bead on him.

He quickly deduces Keith’s location when a cool jet of water hits the back of his head, causing him to flinch. With an amused smirk, Shiro cocks an eyebrow as he turns to face Keith. Only the upper half of the younger man’s face is exposed, but Shiro can tell he’s grinning by the mischievous glint in his violet eyes.

“That’s disgusting. You know fish pee in this water, right?” He scolds half-heartedly, earning another spray to the face for his trouble.

“So that’s how this is gonna be!” Shiro grins as he lunges for the other man, wrapping a thick arm around Keith’s trim waist.

Shiro easily lifts a cackling Keith onto his shoulder and he makes his way up the outcropping. Keith’s unconvincing objections and feeble attempts at extracting himself from Shiro’s hold only to cause the older man to tighten his grip, cheek pressed firmly to Keith’s hip. But Shiro doesn’t allow himself to focus too long on their close proximity as he takes a running leap off the highest bolder.

There’s a huge splash as the pair breach the glassy surface of the lake. Bubbles tickle Shiro’s sides as he descends, feet pushing off the loamy bottom to shoot upward. When he emerges, he’s met with Keith’s delighted laughter.

“Again!” Keith shouts with the enthusiasm of a child as he latches onto Shiro’ back, cheek pressed to Shiro’s.

The sudden display of affection causes Shiro’s stomach to flip, but he can’t bring himself to decline Keith’s request and repeats the process, this time with Keith attached to his back like an overenthusiastic koala.

\--------------------

Once finished with their antics, the pair lounges on one of the larger boulders jutting from the shore as they dry off in setting sun. The weather is clear, save for a few wispy clouds creeping across the amber sky.

Shiro sighs contentedly, the hand on his stomach rising and falling with each deep, even breath.

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget his discomforts and insecurities when he’s around Keith. Maybe it’s because Keith acknowledges them without focusing on them, allowing Shiro to forget they even exist.

Shiro sits up languidly, the warmth radiating off the rocks making his movements sluggish. Under eyelids heavy with lethargy, Shiro stares at a dozing Keith and a proud smile tugs at his lips.

He’s starting to see the fruits of Keith’s hard work, made evident in the subtle swell of muscles on his slim frame. Before, he could feel Keith’s muscles through his clothes, but seeing them is entirely different. The same strong thighs that frequently wrapped around his waist or head look different out of the confines of Keith’s jeans, no matter how tight they may be.

Like this, Keith reminds Shiro of a marble statue. An untouchable work of art. Not meant for someone like Shiro to enjoy. But like most works of art, he’s still allowed to look, and he does so eagerly. His eyes slowly rake over Keith’s sleeping form, face flushing when their eyes meet.

“Like what you see?” Keith teases, voice alluringly rough with sleep.

Shiro’s cheeks darken further as he stutters. “Oh! Uh – I was just wondering if you had any other tattoos.”

It’s a feeble explanation for his blatant ogling, but an explanation none the less.

“I have two more,” Keith says, sitting up and pointing to his left clavicle. “Here’s one.”

What Shiro thought were just birth marks turn out to be a smattering of tiny dots, the largest having several points like a star.

“It’s the constellation Leo,” Keith explains as Shiro tentatively reaches out his fingers, ghosting over the younger man’s skin.

Daringly, he allows himself to touch, dragging calloused fingers across smooth, sun-kissed skin. Shiro holds his breath as he traces the image, heartbeat slowly reaching a hammering crescendo in his chest. Keith is so warm, and his skin is as soft as it looks. The temptation to spread his fingers across the expanse of Keith’s skin, to trace every bone and soft swell of muscle is overwhelming. He can’t help but feel drawn to the other man. Like a moth to flame.

Shiro’s heart stops when his eyes meet Keith’s, which are dark and hooded as Keith stares at him with interest.

For a while now, their relationship has felt like a balancing act, teetering between friendship and … something more, but now, it feels like a dare. Like there’s a line drawn in the sand and his leg is outstretched, hovering just over it. As long as he doesn’t put his foot down it will be ok right? Right?

Shiro clears his throat as he hastily retracts his fingers, rubbing the tips like they’d been burned. “You uh … said you had another tattoo?”

A mischievous expression crosses Keith’s face as he stands up and tugs the band of his briefs down slightly. “Here.”

At this point, Shiro feels like he’s burning up, face mere inches away from a small kanji symbol decorating Keith’s right hip bone. It takes herculean effort not to follow the trail of dark hair pointing down beneath the elastic band.

“… Gold,” Shiro mumbles absentmindedly, falling back on the Japanese lessons his mother had insisted he take.

“That’s right” Keith smirks, pulling his briefs up with a snap before sitting back down again, close enough for Shiro to feel the warmth radiating from the younger man’s body.

The coquettish expression on Keith’s face almost appears sultry as the setting sun highlights his features, practically making him glow. In that moment, Shiro can almost pretend that Keith is gazing at him with desire, that the heady look in Keith’s eyes is something more, something for him and him alone.

However, Shiro’s brain quickly reminds him that Keith’s beauty is not for him to enjoy. So his eyes dart away, searching for a change of subject. Luckily, his gaze falls on Keith’s necklace and he plucks it up.  
  
“What’s this?” He asks a little too breathlessly, rolling the bulky ring between his fingers as he wills his heated face to cool.  
  
“A decoder ring,” Keith says, scooting close enough for their shoulders to brush as he points to the bands of letters encompassing the face of the ring.

“Wow, they still make these?”

Keith shrugs. “Everyone has secrets.”

Shiro hums in agreement as his fingers dance over the engraved lettering.

“My dad had one too,” Keith continues with a soft smile. “We used to write each other secret messages in our letters to each other.”

“Oh yeah?" Shiro chuckles teasingly, giving Keith’s shoulder a friendly nudge. “What kinds of secrets?”

Suddenly, Keith’s smile falters and his eyes dart away. Shiro’s own smile melts and his brows draw together with concern as the younger man’s face twists with apprehension.

“Well, you see …” Keith begins slowly, gaze dropping to his gloved hands as he uneasily rubs his fingers over the fraying edges. “Before I could read my dad’s letters or even send mine they had to be … _approved_ by my grandparents.”

Shiro’s brows press together. Keith had implied that his grandparents were controlling but this is …

“What would they do if they weren’t _‘approved’_?”

“… Throw them away.”

Shiro frowns. “That seems really … harsh.”

“To be fair, I did run away a few times,” Keith admits, anxiously tugging at a loose piece of string. “I was trying to find my dad using the information in his letters. My Grandparents … they didn’t like that.”

“I guess that’s understandable …” Shiro hums skeptically. “But why would they prevent you from _sending_ letters?

“Sometimes I would write about how much I missed him and wanted to see him again, asking him when he was coming back. My grandparents didn’t like that. They said I was being … _ungrateful_ for everything they did for me.”

Shiro features tug into a grimace. He’d heard the _‘ungrateful speech’_ a time or two. It usually consisted of something about food, clothing and a roof over his head.

Despite the resentment burning beneath his skin, Shiro says nothing, offering Keith the same kind of patient silence that he had given Shiro.

Keith takes a deep breath, eyes darting to Shiro then quickly away. “And I … I would sometimes tell him … other things … that happened.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow as the air grows heavy with the implications behind Keith’s words. 

“… Like what?” He coaxes gently.

Keith just shrugs, compulsively picking at his gloves.

“… Keith?” Shiro murmurs, reaching out to reassuringly touch Keith’s shoulder, only for the younger man to flinch as if on instinct.

Keith’s guarded posture and faraway look feel like a punch to the gut as the words Keith uttered when they first met rattle around in Shiro’s head like a pinball.

_I had to get away …_

Suddenly, memories of Keith’s skittish behavior, mistrust, and flippant attitude towards injuries flash through Shiro’s mind, momentarily sucking the air from his chest.

“Did they hurt you?” Shiro asks, voice harsher than he’d intended it to be.

Keith hesitates for a moment before bobbing his head in a short nod.

“My grandfather was always a firm believer in the old adage: ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ so …” Keith tries to shrug casually, but his shoulders are tense and drawn inward.

Shiro’s stomach sinks as all the pieces begin to fall into place, painting a sickening picture Shiro wants nothing more than to tear apart.

_How could anyone hurt Keith?_

This beautiful boy who just wants to touch the stars, who loves horror movies and hippos and jumping fences, whose laugh never fails to make Shiro’s heart swell, whose touch is warm and gentle, whose eyes are soft and kind.

_How?_

“Keith …” Shiro’s voice is soft as he leans toward the younger man, shoulders brushing as he peers under Keith’s long bangs, trying to catch his eye.

But Keith stubbornly refuses, gaze falling anywhere but Shiro’s face as his features twist into a disgusted grimace, most likely fearing pity from the older man.

To be honest, when they first met, Shiro had selfishly hoped for something like this. He’d hoped that Keith was some lost, hurt kid he could protect … be a hero to. He’d missed it, being someone’s hero.

_You’re not superman._

Maybe not … but neither is Keith.

Shiro sighs, heart twisting at the younger man’s pained expression. Right now, all he wants is to wrap his arms around Keith and take the pain away, to give him everything he deserves: unconditional love and support.

Cautiously, Shiro brushes Keith’s hair off his face, knuckles skimming across his cheek, and though the younger man initially flinches at the contact, he doesn’t pull away.

“Keith … I’m glad you told me,” he murmurs, moving his hand to rest on Keith’s shoulder which relaxes slightly. “And I don’t know what they said or did to you, but you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. _Ever_.”

Keith still doesn’t look at Shiro, but his gaze softens as he nods. “Yeah … I know that now.” He pauses and swallows thickly, eyes pinching at the corners. “But … the memories … they still hurt sometimes.”

“Yeah … I know …” Shiro sighs, hand dropping to rest over Keith’s. “I know.”

Tentatively, Keith leans in, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder with a tired sigh. Warmth spreads across Shiro’s chest at the intimate gesture, and he drops his forehead to meet Keith’s.

They say nothing. There’s nothing left to be said.

The gentle lapping of water fills the silence as the pair simply basks in each other’s comforting touch. Keith’s breath’s come out in relaxed, even puffs, ghosting across Shiro’s chest. It makes his skin pebble, but not unpleasantly so.  Shiro’s thumb rubs across Keith’s knuckles soothingly and traces his fingers along the edges of the fraying fabric around them.

“Why do you always wear these gloves?” He asks absentmindedly, picking at a stray thread.

Apparently that was the wrong question to ask and Keith’s body immediately tenses again, pulling away before folding his hands securely across his chest.

“No reason.”

Keith tries to keep his voice light but can’t disguise the way his throat tightens, and his mouth draws into a thin line.

_Shit._

_I fucked up._

Shiro’s feels suddenly cold without Keith at his side. Normally he would just apologize, but knowing Keith, that might not go over so well, especially when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong. His eyes desperately scan the other man’s face for any hint of how the make things better. Keith’s brows are knit together with thought, lips pressed together tightly and the corners of his eyes faintly crinkle.

Shiro is soon distracted from his desperate thoughts when he hears a loud bird call. Looking out across the lake, he sees several birds elegantly gliding across the glassy surface of the water.

“What kind of birds are those?” He asks, peeking at Keith out of the corner of his eye.

“Dunno,” Keith mumbles, not bothering to look as he pulls his knees to his chest.

Undeterred, Shiro cups his hand to his mouth and shouts, “Hey bird! What are you?”

The birds offer no response, and Keith’s eyes dart questioningly toward Shiro.

“Northern Dumbfowl!” He cries out, subtly glancing at Keith in his periphery.

A furtive smile tugs at the corner of Keith’s mouth, but he quickly squashes it.

Encouraged by the reaction, Shiro continues. “Eastern Skinnybird!”

“Southern Ugly-Bigbeak

Keith can no longer suppress the breathy chuckle that escapes his lips and adds his own insulting epithet. “Western Fatfinch!”

Shiro chokes on a sputtering snicker which turns into a full-blown belly laugh, scaring the offended waterfowl away. The pair watches as the birds take off, the ripples making the lake sparkle like crushed glass.

“Awww. Looks like they got sick of us,” Shiro sighs, smiling at the relaxed expression on Keith’s face.

“They’re probably gonna go shit on your tower.”

“They better not. I just had it waxed.”

Keith chuckles as the flock disappears into sunset.

“Do you think they fly south?” Shiro muses casually.

“Want me to make something up?”

“Yes.”

“…Yes.”

“Cool.”

There’s a comfortable pause and Keith’s eyes dart in the other man’s direction.

“… Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“… Thanks.”

A soft, relived smile tugs at Shiro’s lips as he interprets Keith’s words.

_Thanks for listening to me._

_Thanks for not judging me._

_Thanks for trying to cheer me up._

_Thanks for being my friend._

 


	16. Day 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *careless whisper plays in the distance*
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

With a deranged smile, Shiro slowly pulls his pillow over his face, screaming into it with frustration. After several sleepless nights plagued by that obnoxious knocking, he's about ready to snap.

_Maybe I can use the cotton balls from the first aid kit._

He’s beginning to seriously consider it when his gaze falls on the cassette player. Tossing the covers aside, Shiro stumbles out of bed and grabs it off the desk, slipping the headphones over his ears after sliding beneath the sheets. Shiro closes his eyes with a sigh, letting Keith’s low, soothing voice drown out the grating noises around him.

When Keith asks Shiro to describe what he feels, his mind begins to wander. Through the hazy onset of sleep, he can almost picture Keith beside him.

In fact, he does.

He can practically feel the dip in his mattress as Keith would sit next to him. Keith brushes Shiro’s hair off his forehead in a comforting gesture that quickly turns into one long caress down his cheek, throat, coming to stop at his chest.

 Shiro’s measured breathing stutters.

Keith then moves to lie beside him, fingers tracing abstract shapes into flushing skin.

Shiro imagines Keith leaning in, breath hot and wet in the shell of his ear as Keith says, _“What do you hear?”_

Once again, there is a pause in the recording, giving Shiro a chance to focus, or in this case, zone out, as he begins to hear things he _knows_ aren’t on tape, such as Keith’s quickening breaths accompanied by soft moans that sound suspiciously like Shiro’s name.

Next, Keith asks Shiro what he smells.

Well … Keith smells like sweat. Which should be objectively disgusting, and yet Shiro can’t help but disagree. He also smells like dust and sweet hay from rolling around in the fields during their sparring sessions. Shiro also recalls hints of rosemary from the few times he got close enough to Keith’s hair to smell it - a memory that causes him to blush.

When Keith asks him to describe what he sees, Shiro once again obeys. In a manner of speaking.

In his mind’s eye, Keith is on top of him, his familiar weight pressed pleasantly close. Thick eyelashes flutter over dark, hooded eyes and the ebony hair framing Keith’s handsome face looks so soft. And Shiro knows for a fact that it is soft, having given into the temptation of ruffling it a time or two.

As Shiro shifts, the sheets drag teasingly over his growing erection, now impossible to ignore.

The headphones slip from their perch to hang loosely around his neck as he shoots a withering glare at the tent in the sheets. His dick doesn’t seem to be intimidated, twitching eagerly beneath the covers. Biting his lip, Shiro grinds his palm to the bulge, bucking his hips with a groan.

It’s been a long time. Too long.

He didn’t exactly have the highest libido before the crash, but after? It became practically nonexistent.

Until now.

Before common sense has a chance to override his lust-hazy brain, Shiro kicks off the sheets and shimmies out of his boxers. His erection springs free, standing tall and proud. It’s a bit embarrassing how quickly he managed to get to this state, especially considering what – no, _who_ – he was thinking about. He closes his eyes and drags his tongue over dry lips, forcing himself to focus on the sensation of his hand and nothing more.

This is easier said than done.

He tries not to think about Keith’s warm, wandering hands, undaunted by his scarred appearance. He tries not to think of those stupid bright red briefs hugging Keith’s slim hips, a dark, wet spot forming on the front. He tries not to think about what it would taste like to mouth at the damp fabric.

His hand speeds up.

What would Keith do if Shiro took him in his mouth? Would he whimper? Would he moan? Would he worry at his bottom lip, making it red and swollen? What would it feel like to kiss him, to swallow his gasping breaths?

Shiro groans, thighs tensing as he runs a calloused thumb over the tip, catching a pearly bead of precome that helps ease his movements.

He wonders if Keith is a scratcher.

The very thought causes Shiro’s skin to prickle as he imagines the sting of blunt nails dragging down his chest and back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, lines he’ll feel long after their passionate lovemaking.

Oh god. What if he’s a biter?

Pictures of Keith nipping and teething at flushed skin flood the forefront of Shiro’s mind, sending a sudden rush of heat to his dick which is now drooling over his tightening fist. Biting his bottom lip, Shiro’s features screw together with concentration as he focuses on the imaginary sting of nails and teeth sinking into sensitive flesh.

Overwhelmed with arousal, Shiro throws caution to the wind as he succumbs to the fantasy. In his imagination, Keith nips and sucks at the tender flesh of his inner thigh, teasingly close to where Shiro wants him.

“Please,” Shiro begs, needy pants filling the air.

Keith looks up at him with a mischievous grin before pressing feather-light kisses up Shiro’s length, making his thighs twitch. Finally, Keith takes Shiro into his mouth, but not before slowly dragging his tongue over the flushed head, collecting precome with a satisfied purr. Keith grips what won’t comfortably fit into his mouth with one hand while the other slides lower to knead Shiro balls.

With a drawn-out moan, Shiro’s head lolls back as he loses himself to his imagination, carding his hand through Keith’s soft ebony locks, fingers massaging the base of Keith’s skull.

“Good boy. Such a good boy,” Shiro coos approvingly.

Keith keens at the praise, sinking lower and lower with each bob until his nose brushes the wiry hair at the base.

Sweat beads at Shiro’s hairline as he digs his heels into the mattress and fucks into his fist. The knot of arousal in his belly tightens, trembling with tension before finally snapping.

“Ah! K-Keith!” Shiro gasps, hips jerking as come splatters across his torso, the pearly white drops starkly contrasted against his flushed, heaving chest.

He pants, bleary eyed, nerves still humming with pleasure. Even with the open window the air is warm and stifling, smelling of sex and sweat.

With a groan, Shiro throws his arm over his face, nose tucked in the crook of his elbow.

“Shit.”

He’ll have to unpack this later. Right now, he’s hot, tired, and just wants to enjoy the afterglow before shame can set it.

After catching his breath, he lethargically stumbles over to the sink, kicking his boxers aside before they can trip and kill him in the most humiliating way possible. He washes the evidence down the drain and slips beneath the covers, leaving his underwear on the floor. His body sags, practically melting into the mattress as the gravity of his actions slowly dawn on him.

“Shit,” he mumbles into the pillow.

He presses deeper, praying that the bed will just swallow him whole while he sleeps so he’ll never have to deal with the consequences that come with jerking off to your best friend.

His eyes screw shut.

No. He can deal with this. After all, he’s not the first guy to masturbate thinking about his best friend. And honestly, it’s not his fault.

It’s not his fault that his gaze is instinctively drawn to Keith, to his bright eyes and dazzling smile, to every teasing show of skin. It’s not his fault he’s heard every one Keith’s moans when they spar to the point he’s memorized them. It’s not his fault that he knows what Keith looks like pinned beneath him or hovering over him, sweaty and flushed, panting breathlessly.

The sudden barrage of mental images cause Shiro’s dick to twitch with renewed interest and he forces himself to derail his train of thought before it turns into another wreck.

The fact is, he’s never really connected to someone like this before, someone to whom he can bear himself fully without fear of rejection or judgment.

That’s right. It’s not his fault. It’s just the result of being alone for so long. He can get over this. He _will_ get over this.

… He _has_ to get over this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Shiro you big, dumb, gay idiot. (Although to be fair I had the same reactions when I realized I wanted to kiss my best friend so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I guess I'm a big, dumb, gay idiot too.)
> 
> Yay I finally earned the E rating! ╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )╯MA! ARE YOU PROUD OF ME YET???? probably not.
> 
> Also I just want to say that 'cum' is a stupid looking word and I'm not writing it. It looks like something a 13-year-old boy came up with. It's right up there with jizz. Ugh.


	17. Day 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post another chapter because that last one was so short. I'm still dying from the comments XD
> 
> TW for animal death

“Why can’t they bring the supplies up to the towers?” Shiro grumbles, shading his eyes as he glares at the noonday sun.

“Dunno, but I got mine hand-delivered,” Lance boasts.

“What?! How the hell did you manage that?”

“A wizard never reveals his secrets.”

 Shiro frowns at the annoyingly cheerful lilt to Lance’s voice.

“Don’t forget,” Lance quickly adds, “Some of those supplies are for other lookouts so don’t be selfish.”

“What kind of supplies are we looking at?”

“All kinds of stuff. Beans, prunes, jerky …”

Shiro’s stomach growls loudly as he hastily jogs down the path. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he’d had to skip breakfast as well as lunch in order to keep his appointment with Keith. He’s still running a little late though. Hopefully Keith will forgive him.

“You’re late,” Keith scolds halfheartedly as Shiro slowly rappels down the shale slide.

Shiro lands with a grunt. “I had an …. _eventful_ morning.”

“Oh?”

“A raccoon got into my tower through an open window and decided to help himself to … well, everything.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Tell me about it, I had to chase it out with a broom.”

Keith throws his head back and laughs. The mental picture is to amusing not to. The sound makes Shiro melt, but Keith doesn’t need to know that.

“Well I’m glad you got some pleasure out of it, I didn’t even get to eat this morning,” Shiro pouts humorously.

“Aww, poor thing,” Keith chuckles. “Here, try this,” he reaches into his bag and tosses Shiro a protein bar. “We wouldn’t want you working on an empty stomach now would we?”

\--------------------

It’s well into the afternoon when Keith pushes off the canyon wall and says, “I think that’s enough for today.”

Shiro is about to agree when his stomach growls again, _loudly_ , making him blush. Keith chuckles as he digs into his bag and hands Shiro another bar.

“I hope the ‘coon left you _something_ to eat. I don’t think I have enough of these things to keep a big guy like you properly fed,” his lips curl in amusement, giving Shiro’s shoulder an affectionate pat before heading toward shale slide a few yards away.

“As luck would have it, they dropped off supplies for the lookouts today,” Shiro says as Keith gives the rope a few firm tugs before climbing up.

When Keith reaches the top Shiro follows slowly behind.

“I was actually planning - to pick it up - now that we’re finished,” Shiro manages between grunts as he rappels after Keith, who extends his arm for Shiro to grab once he reaches the top. “Care to join me?”

Keith hums for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“I guess I could spare some room in my busy schedule,” he says, throwing an arm over his face dramatically.

Shiro joins in the younger man’s theatrics with a sweeping bow. “Oh, _well_ , thank you _so much_ for honoring me with your presence.”

“Think nothing of it,” Keith sniffs, flicking his wrist dismissively. “I always try to make time for the little people.”

“You’re too kind,” Shiro smirks. “Milord?”

He offers his arm to Keith who surprisingly accepts with a nod and hooking their arms at the elbow.

As they hike, the sun beats down on them relentlessly, the shade of sparse trees providing little relief from the oppressive heat.

“‘S hot,” Keith sighs, wiping his free arm across his brow, causing his hat to slide backwards, protecting his neck.

“Yeah …” Shiro mumbles , not really listening as his eyes follow a bead of sweat that slides from Keith’s temple, down his throat, and into the dip of his collarbone.

As Shiro stares, thoughts of licking long wet stripes up Keith’s neck involuntarily flood his mind. He can almost taste the salty tang of sweat and feel the flutter of Keith’s pulse on his lips.

Feeling suddenly parched, Shiro swallows thickly, hastily tearing his gaze away in an attempt to rein in his vivid imagination. To distract himself, he takes in his surroundings, quickly recognizing the burnt area he’d come across over a month ago.

Very little has changed since his last visit, the only difference being the increase in temperature. Looking upward, Shiro imagines the canopy of trees that would have shaded them from the harsh rays of the afternoon sun, but have long since been reduced to ash and charred spikes.

“I bet it was beautiful before it was destroyed,” Shiro sighs wistfully as he scans the scorched earth. “It’s such a shame.”

Keith’s lower lip protrudes in a contemplative pout as he looks around. “Not really.”

Shiro turns to him with an arched brow. “What do you mean?”

Keith shrugs. “Fires are natural occurrences, they’re necessary for a healthy ecosystem. As long as they don’t get out of control, they can be actually be beneficial.”

A knowing smile creeps across Shiro’s features. “Go on …”

Keith’s eyes briefly twinkle and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he takes a deep breath.

“Well for starters, fires remove underbrush, allowing sunlight to reach the forest floor, which encourages new growth. They also kill off older or diseased trees, making room for younger, healthier ones. See?” Keith extends his free hand to touch the soft green needles of a young sapling. “Plus, these burnt trees will provide homes for nesting birds and other animals, and as they decay, they‘ll return nutrients to the soil.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully as he scans the area with a newfound appreciation, admiring the delicate pink flowers blooming on new undergrowth between tall patches of grass, and the green shoots pushing through the scorched earth with determination.

A soft smile forms on Keith’s lips. “You know, it’s funny how something so destructive can make way for something better.”

“How profound,” Shiro teases affably.

“Shuddup,” Keith huffs, but there’s no venom in his words as he gives Shiro a playful shove.

They continue on, chatting about this and that as they travel, arms still intertwined.

Although Shiro enjoys the contact, he can’t help but feel a spark of guilt with every brush of skin, so he is simultaneously relieved and disappointed when Keith spots a cache box a little ways away and releases Shiro’s arm to unlock it. Thankfully, it’s tucked away in the shade of one of the many large boulders scattered about the landscape, providing a respite from the stifling heat.

The pair peeks inside the weathered box, rummaging through its contents. Keith grabs one of the two books, a 1960’s sci-fi novel titled _Across the Universe_ , while Shiro takes the other.

As Shiro scans the cover he groans. “Not another one of these.”

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, arching an eyebrow.

“I hate Slav,” Shiro grumbles.

“Give him some time, he grows on you.”

“Like a fungal infection,” Shiro replies bitterly, reading the description on the back with a frown.

_The Hunted_

_Slav’s trust is tested when a trophy-hunter’s body is found under impossible circumstances and accusations start flying like bullets._

 “Well, it’s better than nothing,” Keith chuckles, flipping through faded pages.

Keith’s right about that. Shiro’s writing is slow going, and he’s nearly depleted his small supply of reading material. Although, the literary distractions are hardly necessary. These days, very little time passes that isn’t spent in Keith’s company. Whether they’re sparring, hiking, or simply enjoying each other’s presence, most of Shiro’s waking hours are spent with Keith, something he’s slowly grown accustomed to.

With a resigned sigh, Shiro shoves the book into his pack. Keith pokes his cheek playfully.

“Don’t pout, you’ve still got this one,” he says, tucking the second book alongside the first.

“I’m spoiled for choices,” Shiro grumbles.

What? Don’t like sc-fi or mysteries?”

“I do like them, but I prefer history.”

“How exciting.”

Shiro shoots him a dry look.

“Keith ... you told me that you once read Principles of Stellar Evolution and Nucleosynthesis front to back in a week … _twice_.”

“Okay, okay!” Keith laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “We’re both boring as hell.”

“You’re never boring,” Shiro says, not even attempting to hide the fondness in his voice.

Keith’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as he inhales sharply, quickly tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear and looking away. Shiro can’t help but chuckle at the endearing habit, causing Keith to blush even more.

As Shiro begins to close the lid, he spots another one of those notes, tucked in the corner beneath a large, smooth stone. After removing the note, Shiro starts reading aloud.

“ _J, I think I’m finally starting to lose it. I thought I saw the old lookout from Hawk’s Rest out by Arus Meadow. Or maybe I just saw his ghost._ _Remember when you caught Black Tower ha_ –” Shiro stops short, an embarrassed flush creeping across his cheeks as the writer’s messy scrawl suddenly brings to mind his little _indiscretion_ from a few nights ago.

Keith cocks as eyebrow and leans in, rolling his eyes as he snatches the note from Shiro’s hands.

“ _Remember when you caught Black Tower having himself in that hammock?"_ Keith finishes for him. “Honestly Shiro, you're such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude,” Shiro huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Keith just smirks, clearly enjoying his revenge, and continues. _“‘I’m starting to think the service only picks the deranged and perverts. – C_ _’…_ Can you corroborate that?”

“What?”

“That service only picks the deranged and perverts.”

Once again, Shiro flushes as memories he’s tried to suppress bubble to the surface and he mutters, “No comment.”

Keith chuckles, flipping the paper over in his hand. “I wonder who C and J are.”

“Actually, that's something I've been wondering myself,” Shiro says, unclipping his radio. “Hey, are there any Lookouts or Rangers with the initials of C and J? Two of them have been leaving each other messages in the supply boxes.”

“Oh! Josh and Chris!” Allura answers excitedly. “They were both rangers years ago. Gosh … I haven’t thought about them in ages …” she trails off, voice growing quiet and contemplative.

“What happened to them?” Shiro asks.

“Last I heard, Josh took up acting and Chris … Chris had an accident.”

Both Keith and Shiro frown.

“What kind of accident?”

“He fell while hiking. Hit his head and ended up with minor amnesia, forgot his entire summer at the park.”

“I see … well, thanks Allura.”

There’s a brief pause before she replies, “What? Oh, no problem.”

"Amnesia?” Keith repeats skeptically as Shiro clips the radio back onto his belt.

Shiro shrugs. “Anything’s possible.”

“… I guess,” Keith says, studying the note with greater scrutiny as his eyebrows press together. “Do rangers come around here often?”

“I haven’t seen any, but then again we are in the middle of the woods. It would be easy to miss them.”

“But surely they’d stop by or something. Make sure you haven’t gone stir-crazy,” Keith frowns, waving the note for emphasis.

Shiro just shrugs. “Not like I’d be in my tower to greet them anyway.”

Keith’s face pinches with worry. “That not gonna be a problem is it?”

Shiro is touched by Keith’s concern and claps a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

Keith’s anxious expression softens, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into a smirk. He draws pinched fingers across the line of his lips, accompanied by a zip sound.

With a fond smile, Shiro’s reluctantly let’s his hand slip from Keith’s shoulder as he turns to relock the cache. Once Shiro finishes, Keith reaches for him, only to draw his arm back. The limb twitches at Keith’s side as he bites his bottom lip, eyes darting nervously to meet Shiro’s then away again.

When Shiro realizes what Keith wants, he melts, a fond smile tugging at his lips. He can’t help but feel a sudden swell of pride at Keith’s attempts to initiate contact in his own shy way and promptly shoves any lingering reservations to the furthest corners of his mind.

With an encouraging smile, Shiro offers his arm, cocking his head to the side. Keith shyly smiles back, hooking his arm with Shiro’s before resuming their trek.

The dusty path soon grows rockier, leading them along a cliff bordered by an old wooden fence that’s long overdue for replacement, with several boards falling out of place or missing entirely. It doesn’t take long before they come across a pair of signs that, despite their rustic designs, stick out like sore thumbs, letting the duo know that they’re headed in the right direction. They hike in comfortable silence, only parting when Keith jogs ahead to unlock the large, green supply box a few yards away.

With child-like eagerness, Keith flips the lid open, sending dust flying as Shiro approaches from behind. Inside are two large cardboard boxes, each in their own cubby and labeled with which tower they belong to. The one belonging to Lance’s tower is empty.

“Hey, why isn’t there a section for that fenced area?” Keith asks. “Don’t biologists need to eat too?”

“They must get their supplies from … somewhere else,” Shiro shrugs lamely.

His answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Keith, whose brows furrow with disbelief. However, he lets the subject drop as his gaze falls on the remaining box’s label.

“White tower… that’s where your boss Allura is, right?”

“Yep.”

“Her supplies are still here,” Keith notes, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“She’ll get them when she gets them,” Shiro huffs, grabbing his supply box and letting the cache lid fall shut with a thud.

While Shiro hefts the box onto his shoulder, Keith reattaches the lock and the pair begins their long trek home. At Keith’s suggestion they take different route back.

They pass through a field that looks like a lake of gold in the setting sun, with patches of dainty red flowers peeking shyly through the blades. As the pair stroll, miniscule insects flee the disturbed grass, almost twinkling as they catch the fading light.

Shiro thinks it might be the prettiest part of the park he’s seen so far, though that may simply be due to the company. Beside him, Keith maintains a close proximity, letting their arms occasionally brush, much to Shiro’s delight.

Fields and flowers soon make way for gravel and towering boulders, only interrupted by the occasional patch of stubborn grass or gnarled brush. Above them, the communication wires sway gently in the breeze and the wind whistles softly as they descend the rocky hills that make up the landscape, kicking up small clouds of dust in their wake.

Before long, the sparse trees increase in number as does grass and brush. The sun’s rays look like ribbons of gold, filtering through the thick foliage of the trees cresting the surrounding hills.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Shiro says, breaking through the easy quiet. “I have some good news.”

“Geico can save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance?” Keith says, walking backward with playful grin on his face.

“No,” Shiro smirks. “It seems like my woodpecker has moved on. I haven’t heard him for a few days.”

Before Keith can congratulate Shiro, he stumbles backward with a grunt. Keith only catches a glimpse of what he tripped over but that’s all he needs, nearly jumping out of his skin as he scrambles away and into Shiro’s open arms. They both stare in a mixture of shock and horror at the very large, very _dead_ bear before them.

“Woah.”

“Yeah.”

Once Shiro’s heart drops from his throat, he unclips the radio from his belt, letting his vice-like grip in Keith loosen marginally.

“Uh … I think I found your problem bear.”

Allura, ever the professional, responds first.

“Remain calm,” she says firmly. “Can you tell if it’s a black or grizzly bear? Each tends to act differently depending on the situation.”

“It’s … a _dead_ bear,” Shiro says as Keith pries himself from Shiro’s protective grip and carefully approaches the corpse.

There’s a brief pause as Allura is seemingly taken aback. “What?”

“Someone or … _something_ killed it,” Shiro explains, eyes widening as Keith begins to poke at the carcass with a stick.

“What are you doing?! Stop that! Put that down!” Shiro hisses.

Keith ignores him and continues prodding.

“Was it hunters?” Lance asks, distracting Shiro from his scolding.

It’s hard to tell through the bear’s thick fur, but there are no obvious punctures or bullet holes, at least none that Shiro can see.

“I don’t think it’s been shot,” Shiro says as he rounds the creature, stomach churning as his gaze falls on a gruesome sight. “One of its front legs looks like it’s been ripped from the socket,” He grimaces. “What could have done that?”

“Another bear?” Allura suggests.

Shiro’s brows crease as he crouches beside Keith who shoots him an anxious look.

“I don’t see any recent teeth or claw marks on the body,” he reports with a frown.

Other than a few old scars around the animal’s muzzle, it appears to be uninjured, save for the dislocated jaw. Coagulated blood clings to its fur and gums where several teeth are conspicuously missing. It almost seems to have been punched or hit with some blunt object. But what could have that kind of strength? Not a person surely.

“Perhaps it was caught in bear trap?” Allura offers weakly, breaking through the uneasy silence.

 “Maybe …” Shiro frowns. “That doesn’t explain the dislocated jaw, though.”

“Uh, the _what_ now?” Lance squeaks.

There’s a pregnant pause before Allura responds by clearing her throat. “Yes, well … I’ll let Fish & Wildlife know. They know how to handle things like this better that I do. Thank you Shiro.”

“No problem,” Shiro says, eyes darting to Keith who has remained strangely silent for the whole exchange.

Keith isn’t looking at him though as his gaze is fixed on a faint trail of blood that leads deeper into the woods. With furrowed brows, Keith stands up abruptly and begins to follow the grisly trail, disappearing between the trees.

“Keith, wait!” Shiro calls out, but Keith ignores him, retreating deeper into the forest.

Sighing heavily, Shiro reluctantly chases after Keith. As they walk, Shiro remains vigilant, warily scanning the area for any signs of danger as he lags behind Keith.

Other than the gory blood trail, the nature surrounding them might normally be considered rather pretty. But Shiro can’t help but feel a lingering sense of foreboding as the fading sunlight struggles to pierce the dense foliage, blanketing the area in shadows. Shiro’s unease is further heightened when they reach the scene of the crime.

There are obvious signs of a struggle with copious amounts of blood splattered on ground, as well as kicked up dirt and clumps of grass strewn around. However, there is no bear trap. And no leg.

Shiro surveys the scene with a frown, skin buzzing with nerves.

“Look,” Keith says, pointing to several non-bear tracks leading deeper into the thick forest.

They’re human shaped, something Shiro finds oddly reliving. However, they are surprisingly large and have no discernible grooves one would normally find on hunting or hiking boots.

With a determined expression, Keith starts to follow the retreating prints only for Shiro to quickly grab his bicep, tugging him back.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Shiro shakes his head.

“What?”

“Look, whatever killed that bear, I don’t wanna meet.”

“But –”

“No buts,” Shiro says firmly.

Before Keith can protest, Shiro’s hand clasps the back of his neck, guiding him back in the direction they came from. Keith grudgingly complies, walking beside Shiro with a sullen pout on his lips.

It’s getting late. Already the crickets have begun tuning in preparation for their nightly concert, their soft chirps sounding more eerie than melodious.

A sigh of relief escapes Shiro’s lips when they finally emerge from the oppressive gloom of the forest. He quickly retrieves the box of supplies, which he had dropped in his haste to protect Keith. As Shiro hefts the box onto his shoulder, he catches Keith looking back through the trees with an unreadable expression.

Shiro’s brow creases.

“I meant what I said Keith, I don’t want you going back there. It’s dangerous,” he says, voice heavy with concern. “Promise me you won’t go back.”

Defiance briefly flashes in Keith’s eyes, however, Shiro’s severe expression makes him relent. “… I promise.”

Shiro frowns, but doesn’t press further.

He wants to believe Keith. He really does. But something in the back of his mind has him doubting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mr. Bear, we bearly knew him. Also I apologize to Mr. Palmer.


	18. Day 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prayer circle for Shiro's oblivious gay ass. 
> 
> TW for implied self harm.

The light of the noon-day sun trips daintily across the ripples of the lake as they meet the rocky shore. Accompanying the gentle lapping is the energetic twittering of birds. However, the noise does little to distract Shiro from the book in his lap. Keith on the other hand …

The younger man is currently perched atop the boulder behind Shiro, reading over his shoulder. They’re close enough for Shiro to smell rosemary, close enough for Shiro to feel warm puffs of air on his ear when Keith reads an amusing line, close enough to …

Shiro’s jaw clenches as he forces himself to focus on the page.

Despite, recent ...  _developments_ in regard to his relationship with Keith, Shiro can't help but want to keep the boy close. Even now he struggles between wanting to push Keith away for his own good, and wanting to maintain the bond they've nurtured of the past month. Keith obviously desires to be touched with kindness and affection - something Shiro is more than willing to provide. What Keith  _doesn't_  need is Shiro pawing at him like he's a living body pillow.

“Are you ok?” Keith asks, dragging Shiro's attention from his swirling thoughts.

He turns to face the younger man who eyes him carefully, a concerned expression on his face.

“Uh - Yeah, why?” Shiro asks, cocking his head.  

“You’ve been rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders a lot.”

“Really?” Shiro frowns and his hand slips from its perch on his neck. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The crease between Keith’s brows deepens.

“Have you been worried about anything? Anything that would make you tense?”

“Uh … not that I can think of,” he lies.

Truthfully, his recent desires have been weighing heavily on his mind. With each passing day they grow more intrusive and vivid, with thoughts of _– I want to touch him - I want to kiss him – I want to hug him – I want to hold his hand_ – swirling around his mind almost constantly.

While Shiro relives his positively scandalous memories, Keith hums thoughtfully. His scrutinizing gaze rakes across Shiro, sending a shiver down the older man’s spine.

“I could massage you,” Keith offers casually, but there’s a pink tint that dusts the tips of his ears as he speaks.

Shiro's brows arch and a faint blush creeps across his cheeks. “What?”

“You hold a lot of tension in your shoulders and neck. It’s not good for you," he says, pulling Shiro to his feet.

“But-” Shiro begins to refuse, knowing that what Keith proposed will only make his current dilemma worse.

The very thought of Keith's fingers gliding across his skin make his face heat up and his imagination run wild as memories of his late night indiscretion bubble to the surface.

“No buts,” Keith insists firmly, long ebony locks swaying as he shakes his head. “It’ll be good for you, trust me.”

Shiro plops down onto the boulder with an apprehensive frown twisting his features.

“Now, are you gonna that that off … or am I gonna have to do it for you?” There’s a teasing lilt to Keith’s voice and a smirk tugs at his lips when Shiro flushes and hastily unbuttons his uniform.

Keith takes the shirt when Shiro hands it to him, turning around to slowly and carefully fold it. This gives Shiro a modicum of privacy as he carefully removes his prosthetic, something Shiro still appreciates. Once finished, Shiro hands the appendage to Keith who gently sets it on top of the folded shirt.

Now it’s Keith’s turn to hesitate as he steps behind Shiro and reluctantly peels off his gloves, shoving them into his pockets. When Keith’s hands finally come to rest on Shiro’s shoulders, he flinches at the contact.

“Relax,” Keith murmurs softly, gliding his fingers across Shiro’s skin in long, soothing strokes. “Let me take care of you.”

Shiro’s face heats up as he forces his brain reinterpret the phrase into something less … _suggestive_. Though the low timbre of Keith’s voice is making it very difficult to do so.

“I don’t bite …” Keith continues, briefly smirking, "often.”

_Shit._

Shiro swallows thickly, squeezing his eyes in a vain attempt to banish thoughts of Keith nipping at his neck and shoulders to the furthest recesses of his mind.

The muscles of Shiro’s back feel like boulders beneath his skin and he hisses when Keith squeezes experimentally.

“Have you ever done this before?” Shiro asks, mentally cursing himself as memories of his wild fantasies continue to flash behind his eyelids.

“I used to do it all the time for The General when I was younger,” Keith shrugs as his hands slide to the base of Shiro’s neck, pressing his thumbs into the taut flesh and massaging up and down in firm strokes, causing Shiro’s head to bob with the movement.

Shiro frowns. “The General?”

Keith’s hands stutter for a moment. “Ah, I mean – my Grandfather … I always called him The General though,” Keith admits. “He looked the part too. Had this gnarly scar on the left side of his face that went over his eye, and down to his lip.”

“Damn,” Shiro mutters. And he thought his dad was intimidating.

“Anyway, when he wasn’t busy scaring the piss out of anyone with half a brain he would to sit in his old captain’s chair - his throne, as I called it - and watch the evening news while I stood behind on a step-stool and did this,” Keith says before repeatedly drumming his fists against Shiro’s back muscles. “Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he’d let me pick what we’d watch. Usually cartoons or something, but he’d always complain about how stupid they were. I don’t know why though. It’s not like he ever actually watched them seeing how he always fell asleep a few minutes in,” he chuckles softly as he resumes kneading the tight muscles of Shiro’s neck.

The sudden fondness in Keith’s voice catches Shiro off guard, making his face scrunch with confusion.

“I thought … never mind,” Shiro shakes his head.

“You thought what? That he was a complete and utter evil bastard?” Keith huffs teasingly.

“I … yes?” Shiro offers weakly.

“Well … he is a bastard,” Keith admits. “But he’s not an evil bastard, at least … not all the time.”

Keith’s brows press together as his movements slow and his voice grows quieter, contemplative. “I think there was once a time when he was actually a good man. But something changed him.”

“... War,” Shiro supplies bitterly.

A sad hum of agreement answers him as Keith moves from Shiro’s neck to his shoulders, carefully kneading at the stiff muscles.  Unsurprisingly, Shiro's left shoulder is tenser than his right, most likely from overcompensating.

"How does it feel?" Keith asks, effectively ending the previous topic of conversation.

“It’s …”

It’s strange. Not bad of course, not in the least. It’s just that … he hasn’t been touched so intimately in a long time. Sure, the doctors and nurses touched him during physical therapy and when he’d gotten his prosthetic sized. But other than that, touches of affection were few and few between. His family was never very touchy-feely, even less so when he got back. On the rare occasions they did touch or hug him they always acted like he was made of glass. Like they were afraid of breaking him. Maybe they were right to be afraid.

But Keith …

Keith’s touches are different. Firm, yet gentle. He knows Shiro is fragile, but instead of tiptoeing around him, afraid that the slightest touch will shatter him, he holds Shiro with a solid grip as if to say:

_You won’t break._

_I’ve got you._

_I won’t let go._

It’s that reassurance that has Shiro melting into his touch.

“It’s good,” Shiro hums, smiling at the relieved sigh that comes from behind him.

He’s just starting to relax when Keith begins to speak again. “So … do you think you’ll continue your therapy when summer’s over?”

There’s something about the question that makes Shiro want to squirm with a familiar itchy feeling.

“Maybe,” he says vaguely.

Keith’s features pull into a frown as he rises onto his tiptoes to press the heels of his palms into the juncture of Shiro’s neck and shoulders.

“I think you should,” he grunts, repeatedly leaning into his hands. “You’ve made a lot of progress so far.”

Shiro hums in response as that itchy, squirmy feeling intensifies.

“Would you go back to your old therapist?”

“Maybe,” Shiro fidgets. “I don’t know … I sorta stopped seeing her after a while.”

Shiro fingers twitch with nerves. He’s beginning to wish he’d left his prosthetic on, if only to run his thumb over the smooth knuckles.

“That’s not always a bad thing,” Keith admits, pressing his thumb into a particularly stubborn knot as he works his way down Shiro’s back. “A shitty therapist can sometimes leave you worse than when you started. Trust me, I know. My high-school counselor said I had a lot of anger issues that I needed to repress. You can see how well that turned out for me,” he scoffs.

Shiro frowns. “Aren’t counselors supposed to help you … _deal_ with stuff?”

 “Yeeeaah … I’m pretty sure Dr. Iverson’s exact words were _‘repress’_ ,” Keith pauses a beat before continuing. “Was yours like that?”

“Oh no. She helped me a lot but I … I was stubborn.”

Shiro tenses beneath Keith's fingers. If the younger man notices, he doesn't say.

“She thought I should … get out more. And I tried, I really did, but every time I tried to connect with my old friends I could feel how different things were. They'd changed," Shiro’s eyes narrow, wrinkling at the corners. “Or maybe it was just me who changed …”

With a defeated sigh, Shiro slumps forward. “You never saw me the way I was before. I was … normal. I was happy – or at least content. But after I got back … there were some days I couldn't even get out of bed - still are sometimes.”

Keith thinks for a moment before speaking, tilting his head back to stare at the vast expanse of blue above them, hands stilling.

“You’re right about one thing … I don’t know who you used to be. I only know the you who exists right now and I think … I think he’s pretty amazing,” he says softly, pausing for a beat. “And I … I kind of like … my Shiro.”

 Shiro’s heart stops as Keith utters the words.

_My Shiro._

He’s not too far off. By now, Shiro feels like Keith owns a piece of him. He feels cherished by Keith. Protected.

But at the same time, Shiro can’t help but wonder… could Keith ever feel the same? Could he ever be given some small part of Keith to cherish and protect? Would Keith allow it? Or would he balk at the insinuation that he’s anything but self-sufficient?

What does Shiro even have to offer?

_Friendship?_

While Shiro knows that Keith appreciates his company and values the growing bond between them, he's gotten along just fine without it in the past. All in all, it seems like Shiro needs Keith far more than Keith could ever need him.

Just as Shiro's sobering thoughts threaten to drown him, they are interrupted by Keith who gives Shiro's shoulder an affectionate pat, having worked out the last knot. As Keith moves to face Shiro, he wears a concerned expression, most likely having picked up on Shiro's sudden introspective silence. Shiro quickly schools his features into something more cheerful, rolling his neck and shoulders one last time.

“Man, physical therapy too? What am I gonna do without you?” He chuckles almost shyly.

Despite his teasing tone, Shiro can’t stop the coil of anxiety that tightens in his chest with each word.

Keith just rolls eyes and scoffs. “That’s the whole point of therapy – you not needing me.”

Shiro’s smile begins to wane and his gaze falls to the ground.  “Just as a therapist though … we’ll still be friends … right?”

There’s a hesitance in Shiro's voice that causes Keith’s brows to knit together.

“Of course …” Keith assures him softly. “I told you … you’re stuck with me.”

Shiro slowly looks up to see Keith standing over him, prosthetic in hand and a tender smile on his face. Keith patiently waits for Shiro's permission before carefully sliding Shiro’s arm into the prosthetic’s socket.

With practiced efficiency, Shiro secures the straps, finishing just as Keith turns with his shirt in hand. Shiro lifts his right arm, letting Keith help him don the uniform. The slow slide of the fabric almost feels like a lover's caress, causing goosebumps to prickle across his skin.

Shiro watches intently as Keith begins to slip the buttons through their holes, cheeks warming when Keith peeks up at him every so often with a shy smile. Normally Shiro would insist on doing something like himself, wanting to hold onto every shred of self-sufficiency he still possesses. But right now he feels strangely melancholic and just wants to bask in the simple intimacy of the gesture for a while. His only fear is that their close proximity will allow Keith to hear his heart as it slams against his ribs, threatening to break free.

When Keith steps back to admire his handiwork, Shiro can’t help but notice the way Keith kneads at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Alright, now it’s your turn,” Shiro says.

Keith stops the rubbing motion as his eyebrows arch. “What?”

“Hey, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours … or massage in this case,” Shiro chuckles, trying his best to act casual despite the residual pounding in his chest.

Keith hesitates for a moment before shrugging with a smirk. “I’d be crazy to turn down a free massage.”

And so, Keith grabs the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head far slower than necessary. His abs clench with the movement. Once freed from the confines of his shirt, Keith shakes his head, making the dark locks stick out endearingly. As Keith turns to toss the wadded up shirt aside, Shiro’s face heats up and he tries not to stare at the way Keith’s back muscles move with the fluid motion.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just wanted see me shirtless again,” Keith says, smirking over his shoulder.

Shiro flushes at the accusation.

“Of course not!” He sputters a bit too hastily, shooting Keith a resentful pout.

For a moment, Shiro thinks he sees something akin to disappointment flash in Keith’s eyes. No. That can’t be right. He just imagined it.

Under his breath, Keith chuckles before plopping down where Shiro had been previously seated. Ignoring the fluttery, almost eager feeling settlingin his chest, Shiro steps behind Keith and rests his hands on Keith’s shoulders, pulling back with a start when realizes he’s also placed his prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“Ah – sorry,” he quickly apologizes as memories of disgusted looks flash through his mind.

“It’s ok. It doesn't bother me … really,” Keith peeks back at Shiro with an earnest smile on his face before facing forward again and giving his right shoulder a few pats of encouragement.

With a deep breath, Shiro hesitantly places both hands back on Keith’s shoulders and begins to massage the tight muscle with his left hand, leaving the other resting on Keith’s right shoulder for balance.

From this position, he’s close enough to see the multitude of freckles sprinkled across Keith’s shoulders. Shiro briefly imagines pressing his lips them; leaving light pecks along Keith’s warm, sun-kissed skin, showering him is the affection he deserves.

Before Shiro has a chance to fantasize about Keith's soft hums of pleasure the very real Keith moans loudly, causing Shiro's face to flush as he's jerked back into reality. Shiro quietly thanks whatever deity is listening that Keith can’t see how red he is as he continues to work, focusing on particularly stubborn knot that has Keith melting into the touch with a relaxed smile on his face.

“Wow, you’re really good with your hands,” Keith sighs as his head lolls to the side, exposing his long, elegant throat.

“Th-thanks,” Shiro manages to choke out.

_Oh wow._

_Very smooth._

_Shut up._

Shaking his head, Shiro tries his best to focus on the movement of his hand. However, it doesn’t take long before he's distracted by the heat of Keith’s skin, soft and pliant beneath his fingers. He wants to tuck his face into Keith’s neck, to nip at the tender flesh behind his ear and whisper soft words of adoration and praise. He wants to run his hands down Keith’s toned arms, to wrap him a tender embrace and hold him close. Shiro's distracted thoughts continue to guide his gaze, eventually falling on Keith's bare hands resting his lap.

Shiro's hand falters, eyes widening when they catch glimpse of several scars hatching across the inside of Keith’s wrists, just low enough to be hidden by those ratty gloves.

They look deep. Too deep.

_People I can punch. Feelings? Not so much._

_Eventually … not even that helped._

Shiro's features twist into a pained grimace as he recalls Keith's words, heart sinking.

_How long had he suffered?_

_Did anyone know?_

_Did anyone care?_

"Shiro?"

Keith's concerned voice drags Shiro from his somber thoughts and he quickly realizes he's frozen in place. For just a moment he opens mouth before quickly pressing his lips together in a tight line.

No. If Keith wants to talk about it, he will.

“Sorry," Shiro murmurs, not necessarily apologizing for his stuttering movement.

"S'okay," Keith replies, all-together too cheerily for Shiro's current state of mind.

As Shiro moves his hand to knead Keith’s neck, his fingers tangle in the long tresses splayed around Keith’s nape.

When they first met, Keith’s hair was only about an inch long below his ears, sticking out in all directions, adding to his boyish charm. It’s longer now, less unruly, delicately framing his neck and face, as well as accentuating his expressive eyes and thick lashes.

 “It’s getting long,” Shiro muses, unable to stop himself from running his fingers through the soft locks.

“Mmm, I need to cut it,” Keith hums and reaches his own hand back, letting his fingers brush Shiro’s in the process.

“That’s a shame. I like it like this,” Shiro says softly, blushing when he realizes he’d spoken out loud.

“Really?” Keith asks, turning slightly to look back at Shiro.

Shiro hesitates for a moment, staring into Keith’s wide eyes before answering with shy honesty. “… Yes.”

Keith’s gaze returns to the ground as he thoughtfully twirls a lock of ebony hair, a pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“… I’ll keep it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro: Sometimes I have dirty thoughts about him like ... like ... holding his hand. *Sobs*
> 
> Poor Shiro, I know how it feels to fall for a close friend and not even know it. Ganbatte Shiro! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و Tap dat ass! (consensually tho)


	19. Day 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I love seeing your reactions and thoughts. ( ˘ ³˘)♥ I can't wait to see what ya'll think of this. Whoo boy.

With a contented sigh, Shiro stretches and leans against a log situated the near lake-shore. He sits there, soaking in the evening sun with a dried-up stalk of grass between his lips, teasing the tip with his tongue. Peering from under the brim of his cap, he can see Keith sitting on a large rock with one foot dipped into the cool, clear water. As the water laps at Keith’s ankle, he cracks open his journal, tapping pencil to cheek before bringing it to his mouth and chewing at the eraser.

Shiro huffs a quiet laugh at the unconscious habit. It’s just one of many quirks that Shiro has come to love about Keith. Like the way he worries at his lips when he’s anxious, or how he pouts when he’s thinking hard – his thick, expressive brows drawing together so tightly that Shiro swears he could shove a quarter into the crease. But his favorite habit by far is the way Keith will shyly tuck his hair behind his ear whenever Shiro compliments him, only to have it slide out of place and caress his rosy cheeks.

Shiro’s affectionate smile falls when he thinks back to their conversation yesterday.

Despite Keith’s assurances, he can’t stop the doubts gnawing at his brain. What will happen when he goes back home? Will he just fall back into his old habits? Destroy all the hard work he and Keith had worked toward?

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut.

No. He can’t. He won’t. Not after everything he’s done.

He slowly opens his eyes, his gaze drifting towards Keith. With furrowed brows, Keith taps the pencil against his mouth for a moment before letting it slide between plush lips. Shiro watches closely, as if trying to commit every tiny movement to memory.

Will Keith really keep in contact? Will they only talk about his therapy? Or could they eventually move onto more … _personal_ subjects?

Shiro nervously runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently knocking off his hat in the process. As Shiro leans over to pick up the wayward headpiece, an even more upsetting thought seeps into his brain, causing his gut to twist with anxiety.

Did Keith only say they’d remain friends to placate him?

Shiro's eyes snap shut as he shakes his head.

No. Keith would never do that. It’s just not in his character.

Shiro’s eyes dart back to Keith who is hunched over the notebook in his lap, furiously scribbling in the margins as his hair cascades around his face like an inky waterfall. His chest tightens as he realizes the chances of them actually keeping contact are painfully low.

As Shiro leans against the old log, he sighs, letting the chewed up piece of hay fall from his mouth. He tilts his head back and stares up at the vast expanse of blue as it's slowly overtaken with the rosy hues of sunset.

He’s gotten so used to having Keith around he’s started taking him for granted. Somehow, Shiro just assumed Keith will always be there, leaving notes, rolling his eyes at Shiro's bad puns, regaling him with random trivia. 

He closes his eyes, wincing at the sudden ache in his chest.

There are so many little things he'll miss. Things he doesn't want to forget.

Suddenly, he remembers the camera he’d shoved into his pack ages ago. He practically dives for the pack lying beside him before carefully fishing out the device. He licks his lips in anticipation and watches Keith through the viewfinder. The younger man is too preoccupied with his writing to notice, and Shiro patiently waits for the perfect moment.

As Keith tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, Shiro quickly snaps the picture.The click of the shutter betrays him and Keith’s head jerks toward Shiro with a raised brow, his pencil hanging limply from his mouth. An amused smile tugs at Keith’s lips as he closes his notebook.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” He says, pencil bobbing with each syllable.

Shiro shrugs bashfully, a light blush crawling across his features. “Yes?”

Still smiling, Keith tucks his book and pencil into his bag before slipping off the rock, splashing through the shallow water as he makes his way to the shore.

“I haven't seen one of those in ages. Where’d you get it?” He asks, drying off his wet feet with his socks before shoving them into worn high-tops.

“I found it in an old abandoned backpack," Shiro says, passing the camera to Keith who lifts it to his eye. "There was some rope and a few anchors in it too.”

“Lucky you,” Keith says, peering at Shiro through the viewfinder, nose wrinkling adorably as he squints.

“Yup. Thank you Akira Kogane.”

Keith’s smile immediately falls and the color leaves his cheeks. He slowly lowers the device.

“What did you say?”

“… Akira Kogane?” Shiro repeats slowly, brows drawing together with concern. “It was the name on the pack.”

“Show it to me,” Keith demands, voice tight and strained.

“What?”

“Show me the pack!” He shouts, causing Shiro to flinch. Keith has never yelled at him before.

“It's … back at my tower.”

As soon as the words leave Shiro’s mouth, Keith is off.

“Keith? Wait!”

Shiro quickly scrambles to his feet but Keith’s head start, as well as his natural speed, leaves Shiro struggling to catch up.

By the time Shiro makes it to the clearing around his tower, Keith is already halfway up the steps, tripping in his haste. Keith swings the door open, ignoring the heavy crack it makes when it hits the wall. He looks around the room wildly.

“It’s over there,” Shiro says breathlessly, pointing to the pack tucked away next to the wood stove.

Shiro leans against the wall to catch his breath, watching silently as Keith carefully inspects the rucksack.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Secret pockets,” Keith states flatly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Disappointed, he whips out his knife and starts tearing into the fabric, much to Shiro’s surprise.

“Keith?!”

After thoroughly mangling it, Keith drops the shredded pack on the floor. The soft thud it makes is nearly deafening amid the tense silence.

“Nothing. Dammit!” He spits, running a hand anxiously through his hair, gripping the dark strands.

Keith’s head snaps back toward Shiro who flinches at the stormy look in the younger man’s eyes.

“Is this really all that was in there?” He demands, holding up the camera.

“...Yes,” Shiro says as he warily observes the other man, much like one would a wild animal.

He can almost see the gears turning in Keith’s head as he rubs his hand across his mouth and chin, teeth worrying and his bottom lip.

Keith's eyes pinch shut, crinkling around the edges as he chuckles bitterly. “… You ever developed film before?”

Shiro’s eyebrows arch.

“… Actually.”

He steps over to the cabinets, rummaging through their contents as Keith watches with round eyes.

After pulling out the ammonia cleaner and vinegar, Shiro turns to Keith with a grin. “You’re not the only one who knows cool shit.”

\--------------------

With closed eyes, Shiro rests his chin on the old desk, arms tucked in a black garbage bag as he soaks the film in an ammonia bath. Shiro tilts his head to look at Keith who watches him closely, worrying at his bottom lip.

He desperately wants to ask what’s wrong. To know what has Keith so shaken. But Keith doesn’t really seem to be in the mood for an interrogation right now.

So instead, he sighs and asks, “How much longer?”

Keith turns to squint at the clock hanging over the desk. “Just a few more minutes.”

Wincing, Shiro shifts from leaning on one hip to the other, his bare knees protesting as they scrape against the rough wood floor. He glances up at Keith, who is locked in an intense staring contest with the clock.

“There were only like, four photos taken before I found it,” Shiro warns him.

“It’s still worth a look.”

After another stretch of awkward silence, Keith abruptly pushes off the desk. “Times up.”

Shiro quickly moves the film to a dish of clean water and swishes it around. Behind him, Keith hovers, holding his breath when Shiro carefully pulls the film from the bag. As Shiro stands, he grimaces at the pins and needles in his legs and the ache in his knees. When Shiro holds the developed film up to the light of the setting sun, Keith rises onto his tiptoes, placing a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

The both squint.

The first picture is of a man, presumably Akira, looking down into the camera like he’d accidently set it off. The next few pictures are of the fence and the cave, as well as Shiro’s snapshot of Keith.

Shiro feels Keith’s hands slip from his shoulder as he slumps into the chair behind him, head falling into his hands. With a concerned frown, Shiro turns to the other man, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. 

“Keith?”

 He doesn’t react.

“What were you hoping to find?”

“I don’t know…” Keith chuckles weakly, releasing his head from his hands.

The chair creaks as he leans back, gaze fixed on the ground, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t fucking know …”

Shiro eyes him warily for a moment before speaking. “… Who is Akira Kogane?”

The corners of Keith’s eyes crinkle like he’s in pain, but he says nothing.

“Keith, please,” Shiro begs, kneeling down and slipping his hands into Keith’s, griping them tightly.

“… He was my dad.”

“Your –” Shiro looks from Keith’s wilting figure to the shredded pack, then back again. “… When you talk about your father … you always use the past tense … Did something happen?”

Keith swallows thickly, gaze still trained on the floor.

“Officially, he’s just another missing person but …” he clenches his fists till his knuckles blanch, inadvertently squeezing Shiro’s hands. “My Grandparents … they said he wanted to go missing. To run away from his responsibilities. To run away from _me_.”

His eyes snap up to meet Shiro’s. “But I know him! He would never do that to me! He loved me! He wouldn’t just leave me! H-he wouldn’t … he … he wouldn’t … would he?”

The hurt look on Keith’s face nearly breaks Shiro’s heart. “Keith –”

“A-and I keep thinking, was it something I did or said? Why would he –” Keith’s frantic babbling is cut off when Shiro slips his hands from Keith’s grip to cup his face, helplessly staring into his wide, wet eyes.

“… Was there something wrong with me?” Keith's voice cracks as tears fall in earnest. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you Keith …” Shiro reassures him softly, using his thumb to wipe away tears as they cascade down ruddy cheeks. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.

Keith’s lower lip trembles and his shoulders quake as he buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder, sobs wracking his slim frame. Now Shiro knows his heart is breaking. Keith should never sound like this. _Ever_. But all he can do is hold him tightly as Keith grips his shirt, white knuckled and shaking.

Shiro presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek, then his ear, before nuzzling into the crook of his neck, cradling the back of Keith’s head tenderly. Keith slips out of the chair and into Shiro’s lap, clutching at him desperately.

“Oh Keith …” Shiro whispers, pressing Keith closer to himself, tears pricking hotly at the corners of his own eyes.

They sit like that for what feels like hours. Shiro rubs soothing circles into Keith’s back until his violent sobs turn into quiet sniffles and short hiccupping breaths.

Once Shiro deems that Keith has sufficiently calmed down, he pulls back. Resting their foreheads together, he wipes the remaining tears from Keith’s cheeks and a few that stubbornly cling to his long lashes.

“Feeling any better?” Shiro murmurs, brushing Keith’s long hair off his flushed face.

Keith nods lethargically, not ready to trust his voice just yet.

“Good,” Shiro smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

A light blush dusts Keith’s cheeks as he looks to the side, picking up the film Shiro had hastily dropped in favor of comforting him. With a sad smile, he runs his fingers over the picture of his father. Shiro’s watches him closely, eyes darting from his face to the film, then back again. Looking at it now, Shiro can see a resemblance. Both share the same large, inquisitive eyes framed by thick, expressive eyebrows, as well as an impressive mane of dark, wavy hair.

“I can see where you get your good looks from,” Shiro smiles, hoping to lighten the mood.

Keith hums in agreement as his gaze falls on the last picture.

“Is this how you see me?” He asks softly, voice still rough from crying. He slowly rubs his forehead, right where Shiro had kissed him.

The absentminded gesture makes Shiro flush.

At the time of the kiss, he hadn’t been thinking, just reacting. He’d given Keith what he thought he needed. What Shiro wanted to give him. But now that things have settled down, the intimacy of their current positions quickly dawn on them.

Shiro is the first to notice the heat of thighs pressed against each other and he clears his throat, leading them to clumsily untangle their limbs. Despite how awkward Shiro feels, he can’t help but eye Keith with concern as the younger man tries to make himself more presentable.

“I should get going,” Keith sniffs, rubbing at his sore eyes.

“Are you sure you should be alone right now?” Shiro asks, brows knitting together.

“Maybe not …” Keith admits, his gaze falling to the film still clutched between his fingers. “But it’s what I want right now.”

Shiro nods. “I understand.”

Keith chews at his lips for a beat before speaking.

“Can I … keep this?” He asks softly, peering up at Shiro through thick bangs.

Shiro smiles gently at the timid request. “Of course.”

His fond smile twists into a confused frown when Keith unsheathes his knife and carefully cuts through the film.

“Here,” Keith says, holding up a piece of it – the picture of himself.

However, Shiro’s stunned silence has his calm expression quickly morphing into one of embarrassment. “I – I mean … assuming you still want it –”

“I do!” Shiro interrupts, blushing at his own haste.

He reaches for the film, face reddening further when their fingers brush.

With that settled, Keith turns to leave, and the creak of the door is deafening amid the heavy quiet.

“See you tomorrow …” Shiro calls out softly.

Peeking over his shoulder, Keith nods slightly before descending the tower steps. Shiro bends over his desk, peering out the window to catch a final glimpse of Keith before he’s shrouded by the dense trees that surround the tower.

As Keith disappears through the forest, Shiro leans away to stare at the film in his hand. He holds it up to the golden haze of the fading sun.

The familiar ache in his chest, that had subsided the closer he and Keith became, is back in full force, now accompanied by an almost painful sense of longing as he sighs, “… Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Keith ;-;
> 
> As for you Shiro, get your shit together. I mean, seriously? Sighing longingly while looking at his picture? Blushing when you touch pinkies? What period romance drama bs is this? Confess already!
> 
> Also, Akira is based off of Akira/Keith from the original Golion series (hence the name and description) - and no, you can't picture him as canon-Texan-dad because of ... reasons.
> 
> Fun fact: When my brother was beta-reading this I took out Shiro’s 'You’re perfect' line cuz I thought it would be too gay for him (I was totally planning to put the gay shit back in later tho) but he was like “You should have Shiro say ‘You’re perfect’" Me: >:3c
> 
> Also-also, (sorry for all the notes) since the next chapter is kinda short - and ties into this one - I'll be posting it a bit later so keep an eye out for that


	20. Day 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Keith pt 2

"Allura ... I have a favor to ask."

Shiro shifts nervously in his creaky chair. It's early enough in the morning that there's little chance of Lance to butting in with nosy questions, but he still can't help but feel anxious. Even asking Allura is a bit of a risk, but he really doesn't have any other options.

"What is it?" She asks curiously.

Shiro takes a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing._

"Can you ask Coran to look into the old registry and find an Akira Kogane?"

"Yes, of course, but ... may I ask why?"

"I found his backpack while hiking and I wanted to return it to him."

Not _technically_ a lie.

"Alright, I'll contact Coran. It might take a while for him to go through all the records, but I'll radio you if he finds anything."

"Thanks Allura."

Before Shiro can drop the radio into its charger he hears a soft clattering of something hitting his windows. Leaning over his desk, he spots Keith lingering close to the tree-line, arm raised in preparation to throw another volley of pebbles. Once he spots Shiro he freezes and gives him a nod. Shiro quickly pushes away from the desk and descends the steps, jogging toward Keith. He appears to be pretty agitated – hugging his arms and jiggling his leg with nervous energy. As Shiro approaches, he can see that Keith's eyes are red around the rims and have dark shadows beneath them.

_He looks so tired._

Shiro’s brows draw up and in as he places his hand on Keith's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Keith..."

Keith leans into the touch but his gaze drops to the ground and he grips his arms tighter. "Show me where you found it."

Shiro doesn't need to be told what _'it'_ is.

"Ok," Shiro sighs in resignation.

\--------------------

The walk is filled with heavy silence, not the usual comfortable quiet he's come to associate with Keith. The air is thick with tension, crackling around them like electricity.

It's a bit difficult relying on Shiro's panic-hazy memories, but he manages to find the shale slide he'd fallen down over a month ago. He carefully drives a piton into a nearby rock. Every sharp clang rings painfully in his ears.

After giving the length of rope a few sharp tugs he slowly rappels down the slide. Keith follows shortly after, with Shiro waiting anxiously at the bottom, arms out-stretched. Shiro's hands find their way to Keith's waist as he nears the bottom, carefully guiding him the last few steps.

"Thanks," Keith says, scanning the area restlessly. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes," Shiro nods almost sadly. "I found it in there."

Keith's gaze follows where Shiro is pointing to and easily crawls inside the rocky alcove. With narrowed eyes, Keith looks around, for what exactly Shiro has no idea.

"How did you find it?" Keith asks, running a hand across the smooth stone walls.

Shiro face warms slightly at the embarrassing memory. "Er– uh ... I fell and then I– "

"No I mean – how was it positioned? Was it opened? On its side? Tucked away?"

Shiro frowns, brows pressing together with thought. "It looked like it was just ... forgotten. Like he'd left it there then decided it wasn't worth coming back for."

Keith's face twists into a barely contained grimace, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they narrow.

Outside Shiro shifts nervously from foot to foot, peering under the awning. "Did he do that often? Just leave things behind?"

"Yeah," Keith sighs. "He would sometimes leave supplies in different hiding spots in case he needed them later. He didn't always remember where he left them though. Like a squirrel."

Shiro can’t help but chuckle at the mental image only to immediately regret it.

With a sharp exhale, Keith crawls from under the awning and dusts off his pants, gaze firmly fixed on the ground. Shiro's heart aches at Keith's dejected expression and begins wracking his brain for words of comfort. Luckily, Lance's voice issues from the radio.

"Hey Shiro, I've spotted some smoke in your sector – down by Cottonwood Creek."

Keith's head snaps up and turns southward, eyes narrowing. Shiro also directs his gaze toward the thin plume of smoke in the distance before grabbing his radio.

"I see it."

"Good. Now, I know you're not in your tower sooooo go check it out and report back."

With a sigh, Shiro's shakes his head and turns back to Keith.

"Sorry Keith, I need to –"

Shiro's eyes widen as he looks around, catching Keith's shrinking form as he stomps in the direction of the smoke. Shiro lets out a sharp exhale and follows, brows furrowing. He's going to have to talk to Keith about his running off habit.

Birdsongs and the rustling of leaves are the only reprieve from the tense silence that settles over the pair like a dark cloud. Shiro walks mutely beside Keith who watches the smoke with narrowed eyes. Eventually, trees and boulders grow scarcer as they find themselves in an open area, the source of the smoke.

As they draw closer, Shiro surveys the scene with a frown. Other than the impossible to miss neon green tent, the first thing he spots is the fire-pit, now reduced to a pile of glowing, ruby embers with a thin ribbon of gray swirling skyward. Littered all around are crushed beer cans, along with several cigarette butts and various pieces of camping equipment.

Shiro glowers at the half-empty case of Red Lion beer beside the campfire and kicks it, causing a few of the remaining cans to rattle.

"I can't believe this asshole dragged a full case of beer out here," he grumbles.

While Shiro gripes, Keith storms over to the garish tent a few yards away, nearly ripping the entrance flap off in his haste to confront the owner. Keith ducks inside, looking around for a moment before dropping the flap with a disgusted huff.

"They're not here. They just fucked off."

Shiro turns, regarding the fire-pit with a frown. A few crimson cinders float skyward, momentarily hanging in the air before turning black and falling to the ground like snow. Shiro stifles a cough into the crook of his elbow, blinking through the burning of his eyes. Keith comes up beside him and begins to stomp on the smoldering coals, violently. Eyeing him warily, Shiro reaches for his radio when Keith storms away.

"No one's here," he reports, giving one of the charred logs a gentle tap with the toe of his boot. "Fire's out now."

Just as he releases the button, the rustling of brush and a sharp snap and draws Shiro’s attention back to Keith, who is dragging a rather large branch back to the camp. Before Shiro can question Keith's actions he takes a swing at a lantern, sending it hurtling into the bushes. Shiro's jaw drops, eyes widening in shock.

"Keith?! What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" He snaps.

" _Vandalism_ ," Shiro says sharply.

Keith scowls at him for a moment and gives an errant mug a hardy whack just as Lance replies.

"That's good. Did you leave them a warning?"

"Uhhh … " Shiro looks over his shoulder, wincing when his gaze falls on the now collapsed tent. "Yeah, something like that."

"Great! Ok, you can go back to doing ... whatever it is you do."

 Another piece of camping equipment is sent careening toward the dense brush that surrounds the area, causing Shiro to turn to Keith and glare.

"Keith, this isn’t right. We can’t just go around messing with their stuff."

"Well, someone has to teach them a lesson!" Keith snaps, turning his back to Shiro as he begins to wind up for another swing.

Shiro is about to argue when Allura chooses to make her untimely announcement.

"Shiro! I’m back. I found the information you needed about Akira Kogane."

Shiro's heart lodges itself into his throat as he scrambles for the radio.

"Uh, what did you find?" He asks, sparing a concerned glance at Keith, who is frozen in place.

"I'm afraid he's already left the park. Almost ten years ago," Allura says, and Shiro's heart sinks. "Whatever you found must not have been very important to him though, otherwise he would have mentioned it to the lost-and-found," Allura continues, completely ignorant of the heartbreak she's causing. "Do you still want to return his belongings?"

"No ... thank you Allura," Shiro says, watching Keith's shoulders slowly tense.

"Any time," she replies pleasantly, her chipper voice woefully out of place given the current situation.

Shiro clips the radio back onto his belt and turns to Keith. He can see the tension coursing through Keith’s whole body – keeping him taut like a wire, ready to snap at any moment.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t … I just …" Shiro sighs, shoulders slumping as his gaze falls to the ground. "I wanted to help."

Keith doesn't respond as his white knuckled fist trembles around the branch in his hand.

"... Keith?"

Shiro cautiously approaches the younger man, placing a hand on his shoulder and slowly turning him around. As Keith turns to face him, Shiro expects a look of anger or even sadness but is surprised to see fear in the younger man's violet eyes. Shiro's hand slips around Keith’s and the branch falls from his shaking fingers.

"What am I doing Shiro?" Keith murmurs, voice trembling.

Damp amethyst eyes scan Shiro's face, desperately searching for some kind of answer. Shiro feels his heart clench. He lifts his hand to cup Keith's cheek, brushing away a tear as is slides down.

"I don't know ... but you don't have to do it alone."

With a shuddering breath, Keith closes his eyes, drops his forehead to Shiro's chest and releases a shaky sigh. Shiro's hand moves to cradle the back of Keith's head, threading his fingers through dark locks before hesitantly wrapping his prosthetic arm around Keith’s slim frame, pulling him close. Taking a deep breath, Shiro closes his eyes and presses a kiss to the top of Keith's head, consequences be damned. In response, Keith clutches Shiro tighter, twisting the fabric of his uniform.

"Don't leave me."

The words slip past Keith's lips quieter than a whisper, but Shiro hears him all the same.

"I won't," Shiro murmurs softly into Keith's inky tresses.

Keith stiffens in his arms, surprised at being found out. Noticing Keith's sudden change of posture, Shiro promptly soothes him, running his hand up and down Keith's back. Keith softens at the tender gesture, melting into Shiro as his breathing turns shuddery. Even as Shiro's shirt grows damp with tears, he only holds Keith's tighter.

"I promise."


	21. Day 54

“Looks like we’ve got a front row seat to the biggest fire of the year,” Lance muses.

Shiro steps over to his window as he stirs his coffee, gaze falling on the massive plume of smoke billowing in the distance.

“They’ll probably send in a crew for some suppression,” Allura, ever the professional, chimes in, "But we'll likely be stuck with it for the rest of the season.”

“Aaaaaaand it doesn’t have a name yet,” Lance adds suggestively. “Shiro, why don’t you do the honors? It is your first big fire and all.”

Shiro sucks on his spoon and stares at the large column of smoke emanating from deep within the park.

“… How about … Keith?”

“The Keith Fire?” Lance echoes with barely disguised disdain.

Shiro squirms under the scrutiny. “What’s wrong with Keith?”

“Nothing at all, it’s a lovely name,” Allura assures him.

“It’s just kinda weird is all,” Lance huffs defensively. “Usually I try to think of something funny or even a little risqué. How’d you come up with it?”

“It’s uh … the name of a character in a book I’m reading.”

It's a lie of course. He can’t tell them the truth. He can't tell them about the fascinating man he’d met by the fence over a month ago. He can't tell them that the flickering embers of the fire remind him of the spark in Keith’s eyes when he talks about space or the serene beauty of nature. He can't tell them that the trembling flames remind him of the fluttery, burning sensation he feels in his chest every time Keith so much as looks at him.

“Well I think it’s perfect,” Allura adds supportively.

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers to no one. “He is.”

\--------------------

By evening, the fire is no longer an ugly pillar of gray and the distant, hazy flames radiate a warm glow as the darkness of twilight settles in.

“Are you sure he can’t see me?” Keith asks, peering around the cabin as Shiro turns the corner to join him.

“Positive,” Shiro assures him. “Just as long as you stay on this side of the tower.”

Shiro settles next to him, flashing a smile that Keith returns. He's missed Keith.

It's been several days since the incident with the pack. Afterward, Keith had expressed a desire to be alone for a few days, a request that Shiro respectfully honored. While it's not unusual for Keith to spend a day or two away from Shiro, especially when they'd first met, this is the first time Shiro's felt Keith's absence so keenly, like a piece of him was missing. As the days passed, Shiro found himself wanting to help with whatever was wrong, to heal Keith's hurts or at least stand by him as he healed them himself. Eventually, Keith emerged from his self-inflicted solitude, leading to their current position.

Shiro groans, leaning back against the cabin with a dull thud as he fans himself with his hat. “It’s too hot.”

“Here, try this,” Keith smiles, handing him a bottle tequila, before quickly retracting with a frown. “Or maybe you shouldn’t.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and reaches over, the chilled bottle shocking his warm fingers.

“Please, one drink won’t kill me,” he chides affectionately, bringing the bottle to his lips for a swig.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Keith tuts, pushing the bottle away from Shiro’s mouth, causing the older man to pout. “This isn’t your cheap mixto crap. You’ve gotta sip it. Savor it.”

Shiro quirks a brow, but obeys, and the refreshing chill is soon replaced by a warm burn low in his belly.

“Aaaaaaahhhh so cold,” he sighs contentedly. “How’d you do it?”

Keith smiles and leans back against the cabin. “It’s an old trick my dad taught me."

Shiro's stomach twists. Neither of them had brought up Keith’s father since the camera incident, with Shiro fearing the subject would be too painful.

However, Keith seems unaware of Shiro's concern and continues. "You take a bottle of whatever and plunge it into a stream and let it chill all day, so that on nights like this you have something nice and cool to drink."

"You were a 12 year old alcoholic? I’m learning so much about you,” Shiro teases, chuckling when Keith jabs him in the ribs.

“I drank soda you big dummy,” Keith says with a grin as Shiro gives him a playful nudge in return.

Shiro smiles around the mouth of the bottle before taking another sip and handing it back to Keith.  As Keith drinks, Shiro watches intently, trying his best to push thoughts of indirect kisses and the soft press of lips to the back of his mind. Once finished, Keith hands the bottle back to Shiro, languidly rising to lean against the railing.

 “Do you drink often?” Shiro asks, pressing the cold bottle to his overheating face.

 “Not really. Although back in college I would sometimes drink with one of my professors. "

"Wolverine?"

"Yeah," Keith smiles fondly, reminiscing. "He used to make margaritas as big as your head!”

 Shiro chuckles as Keith holds his hands up for emphasis, eyes comically wide. Keith leans back against the railing, a thoughtful smile forming on his face.

“I think you’d like it there,” he says softly, letting his fingers brush Shiro’s when he passes the bottle.

“… I’d like it if you were there,” Shiro murmurs as the warmth from the alcohol, or perhaps something more, spreads across chest.

Keith ducks his head, tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear as he hastily presses the bottle to his lips – a fruitless attempt at hiding the pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Your professor sounds fun.  Maybe you could introduce us,” Shiro suggests hopefully.

Keith's smile melts into something softer, sadder. "I'd like to but he left the school a few months ago. A family emergency or something. That's why he got me this," Keith lifts the bottle in his hand and shakes it for emphasis before handing it to Shiro. “He said it was a good faith-slash-graduation present. A reward for all my hard work.”

Keith’s expression turns somber and the alcohol sours on his tongue. "And yet, here I am. A dropout. No degree. No future. Out in the middle of nowhere. A failure … just like always."

Shiro’s face contorts into a frown. He knows he’s in no position to refute Keith’s statement, no matter how harsh it might be. He could try to disagree, but Keith would just call him out on it. So instead, he tentatively poses a question.

“Why did you drop out anyway?”

Keith's features twist into a dark scowl.

“I was at my grandparent’s house helping them move some stuff and … I found letters. Letters for me. Letters I’d never even seen before.” His brows pinch together at the memory. “They were from my dad … he was _here_."

Keith starts to grip the railing, knuckles blanching as he glares at the ground.

“When I confronted them about the letters, about my dad, they just said they were trying to _protect_ _me_ ," he scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. "So I left. I dropped everything and came out here. Searching for … something.”

As Keith grows quiet, Shiro eyes him with concern and is about to ask him if he’s okay when he speaks up.

“I just realized something …” Keith murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

“… What?”

“We both came here for completely opposite reasons.”

Shiro’s brow creases. “What do you mean?”

“You came here to escape your past, but I … I came here to chase mine, to the point where I don’t even have a _now_ anymore just a _then_ …” Keith’s hands scrub his face as he forces a laugh. “Oh god what am I saying. I must sound so stupid.”

“You don’t sound stupid,” Shiro assures him.

Shiro's gaze falls to his hands as he rubs at the smooth knuckles of his prosthetic.

“You’re right about me I think …” he says softly. “Back home … I felt so much pressure to be my same old self – someone I knew I could never be again – that I just ended up cutting myself off from everyone who knew the old me.  So they wouldn’t see the mess that was the new me.”

Suddenly, Shiro’s reflective expression shifts, growing resolved as he looks up at Keith. “But when I’m with you, I forget who I was – who I’m ‘ _supposed’_ to be. Maybe it’s because you have nothing to compare my current self to but, I don’t feel like I have any expectations to live up to. I can just … _be_. I … I _like_ myself – my _new_ self, my _real_ self – when I’m with you.”

Keith’s eyes widen at the admission, a warm flush creeping over his cheeks.

As Shiro stares, his features slowly soften. “What would you do … if you could just … be?”

Keith’s gaze falls and he turns around, leaning on the rail to face the wildfire in the distance.

“I want to do something I love for _myself_ instead of doing things out of duty or some fucked up attempt at ‘ _fixing’_ things ... I’m done chasing ghosts,” he mumbles into the crook of his elbow, arms folded on the rail.

The ruby glow of distant flames highlights each roiling plume that billows to the heavens and blots out the few evening stars that dot the darkening sky.

“What are you gonna do once summer is over?” Keith asks abruptly.

The sudden change of subject gives Shiro whiplash and he blinks. “I don’t know … I suppose I’ll just keep writing … I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

More like he didn’t want to think about it.

“Will you … promise me one thing?” Keith asks softly.

Shiro sits up straighter.

“Anything,” he says eagerly. And he means it.

“Promise me … that you’ll say goodbye.”

“… I promise,” Shiro agrees in a hushed tone.

“And not a note or a letter or any of that bullshit, a real face-to-face goodbye.”

“I promise,” Shiro assures him, more firmly this time.

There’s a sad smile on Keith’s lips, but he seems satisfied with Shiro’s answer, fixing his gaze on fire the in the distance.

“I love how it looks at night,” Keith muses quietly. “During the day it’s just smoke, but when the sun goes down … you can get lost in it.”

“… Yeah,” Shiro whispers, his gaze nowhere near the fire.

With Keith's attention elsewhere, Shiro stares unabashed, committing to memory the way Keith's eyes reflect the distant glow of sunset and flames in vivid shades of ruby and gold. Once again, his chest is seized with that familiar ache and he takes a deep breath, rubbing at his ribs in a vain attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing there.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Keith murmurs, almost too quiet for Shiro to hear him.

“Me too,” Shiro whispers just as softly, head suddenly feeling like it's filled with cotton as something sparks beneath his skin.

"I’ve never … connected with anyone like I have with you …” Keith says, picking at a loose sliver in the rough railing. "It’s nice to just be close to someone."

"... Yeah," is all Shiro can manage as the air is sucked from his lungs.

Slowly, and without warning, everything falls away. The sounds of dusk grow muted till he only hears the steady crescendo of his heart beat. With Keith’s wistful smile illuminated in soft amber hues, it finally hits him, something he's known for a while now, yet somehow never truly acknowledged.

 

He’s in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking finally. Now for the tricky part: confessing.


	22. Day 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I'm practically vibrating with excitement.

“Uuuhhhhhh is this revenge for the witch thing? Cause it was just a joke ok?” Keith says nervously, waving his hands around in an attempt to orientate himself.

“No,” Shiro chuckles. “Here, take my hand.”

He easily pulls Keith up the rocky terrain, reveling in the warmth of his hands.

“Can I at least open my eyes?” Keith groans, still gripping Shiro's arm tightly.

“No! It’ll ruin the surprise!” Shiro grins with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He leads Keith onto a blanket he’d laid out earlier, taking care not to let him trip.

“Ok, sit here.”

Keith plops down as ordered, crossing his ankles and tugging them close. Once settled, Shiro gently lifts Keith's chin, tilting his head back. His eyes flit down to Keith's lips when they part to take in a quiet, but sharp breath. After a brief pause, Shiro reluctantly steps back, letting his fingers drag across Keith's skin.

“Now … open your eyes.”

Keith slowly blinks, eyes widening at the sight of thousands of stars, twinkling in the inky blue firmament above him.

“I remembered what you said about your dad. How your favorite thing to do together was stargazing,” Shiro says, settling down next to Keith with a grunt.

Keith says nothing as he continues staring at the sky. His lack of response makes Shiro nervous.

“I – I suppose you could have done this anytime …” Shiro admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you really didn’t need to hike all the way out here to see them properly, and you could have just stayed at your own –”

“I love it.”

Shiro freezes and turns. “What?”

Keith’s eyes are shiny and wet when they meet Shiro’s.

“I love it,” he repeats, voice soft and shaky.

At that moment, Keith looks at Shiro like he hung the stars just for him, just for this night, and Shiro has never felt like kissing him more. However, he isn't given the opportunity, as Keith turns his face skyward. It's fine though. With Keith's attention focused elsewhere, Shiro takes the opportunity to stare openly, taking in Keith's sparkling eyes and rosy face, which is practically glowing under the soft moonlight.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be out at night,” Keith says, smiling up at Shiro when he drapes a blanket across Keith’s shoulders.

“I think I can make an exception just this once,” Shiro smirks, settling next to Keith.

His heart beats wildly when Keith lifts the blanket, beckoning him. Swallowing down his nerves, he inches closer and closer until their sides are pressed flush together. He tentatively wraps his arm around Keith’s shoulder, quietly sighing with relief when Keith leans into him.

“Tell me about them,” Shiro says softly, cheek pressed against Keith’s head.

“What?”

“The Constellations.”

“What, all of them?”

“Yes.”

Keith hums, snuggling closer to Shiro.  “Let me think … there’s Andromeda - the Chained Lady. Her father shackled her to a rock by the sea as a sacrifice to Cetus, a sea-monster that was attacking Ethiopia.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was saved by the hero Perseus.”

“Did they get married?”

“Yep, they had nine kids.”

“Awww,” Shiro coos happily.

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” Keith chuckles before pursing his lips in thought.

“Next there’s Antlia the air pump ...”

Shiro turns to Keith with a look of skeptical bewilderment. “There is no air pump in the sky, you made that up.”

“No, I didn’t," Keith says as he tries to conceal a grin by tugging the blanket higher.

"That’s a lie!”

“No, it’s true!” Keith denies with a giddy laugh.

“Bullshit,” Shiro says flatly, only for the smirk pulling at his lips to completely ruin the mock scowl on his face.

“I can do one better…” Keith bites his lower lip as he grins.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Horologium … the pendulum clock …”

Shiro throws hands up in disbelief. “Okay! Now I know you made that one up!”

“I really didn’t!”

“You are such a liar!” Shiro gives Keith a playful shove that quickly devolves into a wrestling match.

Shiro easily gains the upper hand, pinning Keith while laughing uncontrollably into the crook of the younger man's neck. He pulls back to see a rather pleased looking Keith giggling breathlessly beneath him. Keith's inky locks are splayed around his head, framing rosy cheeks made rounder by the soft smile that reaches up to his bright eyes.

Inhaling sharply, Shiro's eyes briefly dart to where their hips are pressed together, heat rising to his cheeks. With a breathless chuckle Shiro pulls away, hoping the cover of darkness will hide his ruddy features as he rolls onto his back beside Keith.

“It’s strange to think that some of those stars don't even exist anymore,” Keith muses quietly. “It could take hundreds – thousands _– millions_ of years before their light stops reaching us.”

“… Ghost lights,” Shiro murmurs, gazing reverently at the stars hanging over them like shards of glass, glittering amid the cold, inky blackness surrounding them.

“And just think, there may even be new stars coming into existence _right now_ – but we'll never live to see them.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully, noting Keith’s almost melancholic tone. “But … that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

With a contemplative pursing of lips, Keith narrows his eyes, studying the shimmering lights more critically.

“People are like that too … aren’t they?” Shiro adds.

Keith turns his head, arching a brow. “What do you mean?”

Twisting his mouth into a pensive frown, Shiro struggles to convey his scattered thoughts. “It's like ... they don't exist until you see them ... you know?”

“Yeah … I guess you’re right,” Keith says, lips quirking into a smile. “I guess that means the chances of us meeting were –”

“ _Astronomical_ ,” Shiro quickly interjects, grinning when Keith gives him a warning smack.

Shiro takes his well-deserved punishment, chuckling as he rubs the point of impact. His smile only widens as he points heavenward.

“Hey! Shooting star!”

“Shiro ... that's a satellite,” Keith says dryly, albeit with a touch of fondness.

“I know that,” Shiro huffs in feigned offence. “But, I used to think they were shooting stars when I was a kid. I even made wishes on them.”

Keith shifts onto his side, fist propped against his cheek. “What sort of wishes?”

Shiro shrugs. “Oh, you know, kid stuff. A dog, all the ice cream I could eat ...” he trails off, cheeks warming as his voice lowers, “A friend.”

“Did they ever come true?” Keith asks softly.

Shiro’s gaze softens and he turns to Keith, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “One did.”

A fond smile blooms on Keith’s face, too bright to hide even when he ducks his head for moment before looking skyward.

“There’s another one,” Keith says, finger following the slow, consistent path of the satellite as it arches across the sky.

“Make a wish.”

Keith’s brow quirks at the suggestion but seems to comply, pursing his lips while his eyes narrow.

“What did you wish for?” Shiro asks once Keith’s features smooth out into something softer, sadder.

An impish smile creeps across Keith’s face. “I’m not telling.”

“Whaaat?” Shiro whines.

“If I tell you then it won’t come true,” Keith says a-matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh c’mon, not even a hint?”

Keith’s grin just widens.

“Nope,” He pops the P forcefully, signaling the end of the conversation and Shiro lies back with a theatrically heavy sigh.

They observe the multitude of stars above them in comfortable silence. Only the sound of crickets and rustling leaves fill the cool night air.  After a while, Shiro turns his head to Keith whose eyes are closed, his breath shallow and even.

With a soft grunt, Shiro props himself up on his elbow as he continues to stare at Keith. His gaze immediately falls on Keith's mouth which is slightly parted, taking in shallow breaths. Keith's lips are a delicate shade of pink and slightly chapped, probably from his nervous chewing habit. A habit Shiro can't help but find endearing.

What would it feel like to kiss him? To press his lips against Keith’s. He imagines they'd be warm. Soft and pliant against his.

Shiro’s eyes trail lower, down Keith's long neck, a blank canvas perfect for bruising kisses and grazing teeth. His gaze eventually stops on Keith's long fingers, clasped over his chest as it slowly rises and falls with each even breath. He can see the dirt trapped under Keith's short fingernails. The black paint that formerly decorated them has completely chipped off, save for a few flecks still stubbornly hanging on despite all odds.

Shiro smiles, easily remembering the feeling of Keith’s hand in his, warm and slightly calloused. Hands that held him, comforted him. He loves those hands. He loves all of Keith. Just thinking the words has his heart stuttering in his chest.

“The moon is beautiful, isn't it,” Shiro whispers meaningfully.

The younger man doesn’t stir.

“Keith … you asleep?”

He doesn’t respond.

“... There’s a spider on you…"

“…”

“… Keith?”

As Shiro slowly leans over, gently brushing the hair from Keith's face, he’s overcome by sudden swell of affection and his heart feels like it could beat right out of his chest. He leans in closer, lips ghosting across Keith's skin as he sighs.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” Shiro murmurs.

He kisses Keith’s cheek softly, tenderly, as he tries to pour all his emotions into the man beside him. Keith's skin is warm and soft, sending pleasant sparks up Shiro's spine before mellowing into a low hum.

After reluctantly pulling back with a sigh, Shiro reaches for the long-discarded blanket, carefully tugging it over Keith's sleeping form. Just as he begins to tuck Keith in, he hears a faint rustling, made louder by the sudden absence of crickets' chirping. Shiro's brows furrow as his head snaps in the direction of the noise, listening intently for any indication that the sound is growing nearer. Fortunately it's not, but for just a moment, the wind stirring through the leaves almost sounds like the hushed muttering of a low voice.

When the night air is once again filled with the familiar, murmuring of gentle breezes and soft chirps of crickets, Shiro gently nudges Keith's shoulder, urging him to wake. Keith whimpers softly, face twisting into adorable pout that makes an affectionate smile tug at Shiro lips.

"Hey. Wake up. We should get going."

Keith looks up at Shiro, bleary eyes blinking slowly. "Don't wanna," he huffs, tugging the blanket higher.

Shiro chuckles fondly and gives Keith a gentle shove. "C'mon sleepy-head. I'll carry you."

Keith peeks over the hem of the blanket, his formerly sleep-blurry eyes shining with interest. When Shiro bends over, gesturing for Keith to hop on, he eagerly attaches himself to Shiro's back with a grin.

"Woof! What'd you eat for breakfast? A hippo?" Shiro grunts, gripping Keith's thigh to heft him higher.

"Sorry," Keith chuckles, not sounding remotely apologetic as he winds his arms around Shiro's neck.

"I'm just kidding, it's like holding a handful of grapes," Shiro teases, earning another round of sleepy giggles.

As Shiro walks, sleep once again begins to claim Keith, who nuzzles his face into Shiro's neck, sending pleasant shivers up the older man's spine. Shiro reminds himself to remain vigilant, only to falter when he feels soft lips graze his neck. Keith sighs contentedly, breath ghosting across Shiro's flushed skin.

It’s not long before they reach Shiro’s tower and Keith taps his foot against Shiro's thigh, catching his attention. Keith slips off Shiro, staggering back a few steps as he regains his footing.

"Thanks for the ride," he smiles sleepily. "I can take it from here."

Shiro frowns. "But you don't have flashlight, do you?"

"Don't need one."

The crease between Shiro's brows deepens as he looks around. While the light the moon provides is fairly decent, it's not nearly enough to guide Keith safely back to his camp and Shiro says as much.

Keith just waves him off.

"My night-vision is above average apparently. I'll be fine."

Before Shiro can make any more objections, Keith is off and down the trail, leaving Shiro alone with the ghost of Keith’s touch lingering on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Shiro is a classic romantic. You know the type, flowers and chocolates on Valetine's Day, dinner at a fancy restaurant on anniversaries, picnic dates, ect.
> 
> On the off chance someone doesn't know, the phrase 'The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?' was used by the Japanese to say 'I love you' back when they were too reserved to say 'I love you' directly. 
> 
> The next chapter is kinda short and is like 40% lyrics so I'm gonna go ahead and post it later. I think you'll like it ;)


	23. Day 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your listening pleasure: 
> 
> The Bobby Fuller Four – Let her dance  
> Billy Joel – For the longest time  
> Paul Anka – Put Your Head on My Shoulder
> 
> I tried to time the music to match up with the writing so you can read while listening to it, but depending how fast/slow you read it might not. OTL

Shiro raises a hand to shield eyes, squinting at the sun as it slowly descends behind distant mountain peaks and ancient trees.

Normally he would wear an eager expression at the thought of seeing Keith, but this evening his features are clouded with a concerned frown. Lately, Keith has been acting … distracted. Preoccupied. Even today when he asked Shiro to meet him by the lake he seemed a bit on edge. Like something was on his mind.

_I hope he’s ok._

Dry grass and dirt crunches beneath Shiro’s feet as he walks down the path to the lake, brushing aside the overgrown branches before they can smack him in the face. When he emerges, he can see Keith lounging on the shore, arm swung over a log.

“Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy you made it!” Keith cheers, raising the bottle of tequila above his head.

Shiro arches an eyebrow in mild scolding. “Are you drunk?”

“No. I am getting drunk!” Keith counters, taking swig for emphasis.

With a roll of his eyes Shiro plops down beside him, plucking the bottle from Keith’s loose grip in the hopes that the alcohol will take the edge off his nerves. While Shiro is busy bogarting the booze, Keith begins rummaging through his bag.

“What are you doing?” 

“I wanna dance,” Keith says, gracelessly jamming one of the many mix-tapes spilling from his bag into the stereo.

“You’re drunk,” Shiro points out blandly.

“I’m buzzzzzz’d,” Keith slurs happily, walking backwards to the lake-shore as the [strum of a bass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYZ40lDrqb0) bursts from the speakers.

Keith’s head bobs to the beat and the heels of his feet tap with the soft jingle of the symbols.

 

_Well there she goes with a brand new love affair,_

_Dancing with him like she don’t even care._

_Oh let her dance with him let her dance all night long._  

 

With a grin, Keith whips his hair out of its tie. The ebony locks fall freely, caressing his face and neck as he shakes his head with wild abandon.

 

_Well who’da known that just yesterday_

_She danced with me the very same way._

_Well let her dance with him let her dance all night long._

 

Keith strums an invisible guitar and winks at Shiro who raises the bottle to lips, never taking his eyes off the other man as he sways. Shiro’s gaze falls of Keith’s lips as he mouths the words. They look soft and pink, quirking up at the corners.

 

_Well let her dance with him all night long._

_Let her dance to our favorite song._

_Oh let her dance with him let her dance all night long._

 

Feeling suddenly flushed, Shiro pops open the top three buttons of his uniform. He takes another large swig, ignoring the lyrics in favor of ogling Keith. He looks good, with cheeks rosy from exertion and a light sheen of sweat beginning to form along his brow.

Before Shiro’s thoughts can grow too lurid, Keith breathlessly calls out, “Join me!”

Shiro just shakes his head and, with an apologetic shrug, replies, “Two left feet.” 

“Well…” Keith saunters over and Shiro stares shamelessly, hypnotized by the rhythmic swing of Keith’s hips. “I have two right feet.” Keith grins as he grabs Shiro’s hands, pulling him up. “We make a perfect pair.”

Shiro smiles dumbly.

He sways on his feet as the alarm bells, warning him that being so close to Keith is not a good idea, are overshadowed by the pleasant buzz of alcohol. With a thoughtful hum he circles his arms around Keith, pulling him closer.

“A perfect pair.”

He slips his left hand into Keith’s right, and then winds the other around his waist. Exaggeratedly bobbing to the upbeat tempo, Shiro spins Keith around in a childlike facsimile of a waltz – the only dance he knows other than the Macarena.

 

_Well I’ll find me a new love and then she’ll see_

_Someone else will be dancing with me then_

_Let her dance with him, let her dance all night long_

 

If Keith minds he doesn’t show it, choosing instead to laugh affectionately at his dance partner as the chorus repeats ad infinitum, fading just as the next song [begins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUl4kxTfzKE).

 

_Woah – for the longest time_

_Woah – for the longest time_

 

_If you said goodbye to me tonight_

_There would still be music left to write_

_What else could I do_

_I’m so inspired by you_

_That hasn’t happened for the longest time_

 

Keith looks up at Shiro with drowsy, half-lidded eyes and smiles fondly, leaning against him with a sigh. Filled with Dutch courage, Shiro rests his cheek on Keith’s head and pulls him closer.

 

_Once I thought my innocence was gone_

_Now I know that happiness goes on_

_That’s where you found me_

_When you put your arms around me_

_I haven’t been there for the longest time_

 

Keith’s weight settles onto Shiro and his swaying grows languid. Shiro smiles fondly into the black mess of hair as it tickles his cheek and the tip of his nose.

 

_Woah – for the longest time_

_Woah – for the longest time_

_I’m that voice you’re hearing in the hall_

_And the greatest miracle of all_

_Is how I need you_

_And how you needed me too_

_That hasn’t happened for the longest time_

 

Soon, Shiro’s steps slow to a rhythmic shuffle, brows knitting in contemplation.

 

_Maybe this won’t last very long_

_But you feel so right_

_And I could be wrong_

_Maybe I’ve been hoping too hard_

_But I’ve gone this far_

_And it’s more than I hoped for_

 

He’d never really related to love songs before. They were meant for other people. Pining teens. Childhood sweethearts. Passionate lovers. Not him.

Until now.

Until Keith.

 

_Who knows how much further we’ll go on_

_Maybe I’ll be sorry when you’re gone_

_I’ll take my chances_

_I forgot how nice romance is_

_I haven’t been there for the longest time_

 

A contented sigh escapes Keith’s lips and he sinks further against Shiro, melting the older man’s pensive frown into a soft smile.

 

_I had second thoughts at the start_

_I said to myself_

_Hold onto your heart_

 

Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand and nuzzles closer. The simple, innocent gesture makes Shiro’s heart stutter and he squeezes back.

 

_Now I know the woman that you are_

_You’re  wonderful so far_

_And it’s more than I hoped for_

_I don’t care what consequence it brings_

_I have been a fool for lesser things_

_I want you so bad_

_I think you ought to know that_

_I intend to hold you for the longest time_

 

Shiro feels light – weightless. Like he’s a balloon and the only thing tethering him to reality is the warm weight of Keith’s body against him.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or the sappy music. Or the way the setting sun bounces off the ripples of the Lake, causing thousands of golden lights to dance across Keith’s placid features. Whatever the reason, Shiro finds himself wanting to confess.

He wants Keith to think of him when he hears songs like this. He wants to promise he’ll stay by Keith’s side and love him. He wants everything Keith is willing to give him. He wants so much.

One song melts seamlessly into the [next](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvxagNIBVLU) and their shuffling steps slow until they’re just standing there, pressed together, swaying languidly to the beat. By now, Keith is pretty much dead-weight as he leans against Shiro who happily supports the other man.

 

_Put you head on my shoulder_

_Hold me in your arms, baby_

_Squeeze me oh so tight, show me_

_That you love me too_

 

Keith’s breath ghosts across Shiro’s collarbones as he sluggishly mouths the lyrics. Chapped lips drag against flushed skin, sending Shiro’s heart racing.

 

_Put your lips next to mine dear_

_Won’t you kiss me once, baby_

_Just a kiss goodnight maybe_

_You and I will fall in love_

Shiro and Keith are pressed impossibly close. The fabric of their clothes drag against each other as they rock back and forth, igniting sparks beneath Shiro’s flushed skin.  Arousal begins to swell behind his navel as he breathes in Keith’s scent – rosemary, sweat, alcohol.

 

_People say that love’s a game_

_A game you just can’t win_

_If there’s a way I’ll find it someday_

_And then this fool will rush in_

 

Shiro finds himself murmuring the words as well, putting emphasis on the sentimental term of endearment.

 

_Put you head on my shoulder_

_Whisper in my ear, baby_

_Words I want to hear tell me_

_Tell me that you love me too_

Daringly, he lowers his lips to Keith’s temple, nosing at the dark hairs plastered to dewy skin. Keith shudders.

 

_Put you head on my shoulder_

_Whisper in my ear, baby_

_Words I want to hear, baby_

_Put you head on my shoulder_

 

The sun ducks behind the trees as the tape winds down with a harsh clack, snapping Shiro out of his concupiscent daze. A few golden rays peek through branches, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the scene unfolding on the lakeshore.

Professions of love and adoration hang on the tip of Shiro’s tongue, dangling precariously.

He wants to confess. He wants to wrap his arms around Keith in a lover’s embrace. He wants to whisper sweet nothings against kiss swollen lips.

But not like this. Keith deserves better than the boozy ramblings of a drunken man.

So, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Shiro does his best to control his emotions. But the way Keith nuzzles against his chest, sighing contentedly, has his resolve crumbling. With a deep, controlled breath, Shiro reluctantly steps back to put some space between them, only for Keith to follow.

An affectionate chuckle rumbles in the back of Shiro’s throat. 

“Need me to call a cab?”

The sound of Shiro’s voice seems to break Keith out of his sleepy trance and he stiffens. Peeling off Shiro’s chest, he stares up with wide eyes, face still flushed and warm.

“Maybe you should have some water,” Shiro suggests thoughtfully.

His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush his knuckles against Keith’s rosy cheeks.

 “… Good idea,” Keith mumbles and roughly pushes away.

Shiro stumbles back and watches with furrowed brows as Keith staggers to the shoreline, eyes widening when Keith drops to his knees and dunks his head into the freezing lake.

“Keith?!” 

Keith pulls back with a gasp, water dripping down his hair and into his eyes as his teeth chatter.

“Holy shit! That’ll sober you up no problem!”

Soaking wet, he stumbles back to the log and hastily collects his things.

“I – I didn’t mean you had to leave,” Shiro says, helplessly watching as Keith begins to walk away. 

Keith tucks a wet strand of hair behind his ear, unable to look Shiro in the eye. “No, it’s late and I should be going.”

“At least let me walk you back,” Shiro pleads, gently tugging Keith’s bicep.

With closed eyes, Keith shakes his head, sending tiny droplets flying. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Keith assures him with a weak smile. 

He slips from Shiro’s grasp and winds down the dense trail, leaving Shiro far behind to anxiously rub the back of his neck, wondering what he did wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro, you are a true gentleman, but you're killing me.
> 
> Here are some songs that didn’t make the cut, but are all equally great to picture Keith and Shiro slow-dancing to: 
> 
> Marvin Berry & The Starlighters – Earth Angel (Will You Be Mine)  
> Elvis Presley – Can't help falling in love  
> Morten Harket – Can’t take my eyes off of you  
> The Platters – Only you


	24. Day 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, looks like a storm's a brewin'
> 
> Btw someone mentioned that they're glad I tagged everything in advance and I just wanted to say that if any of you think I should add a tag just tell me. I hate going through the trouble of getting super deep into a fic only to have one of my squicks or notps end up featuring heavily as a plot point :/ That being said, I tried to leave out anything that would be too spoilery while still tagging any potential triggers.
> 
> As always thanks for all the comments!!! I reread them over and over! ❤

A wistful sigh slips past Shiro’s lips as he stares out the dusty cabin window, mind clouded with half-formed professions of love and memories of skin on skin.

“– Shiro? Are you listening to me?” Allura says tersely, causing Shiro’s chin to slide from its perch in his palm.

“Hm? Oh yeah, sure.”

Allura hums skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Katie Holt. Young girl. Runaway. Hiking on her own. I got it.”  
  
_Wait … Holt?_  
  
“Is she by any chance related to the Holt’s from over a month ago?”  
  
Allura sighs in frustration, “I  _just_ told you. She ran away from home to meet up with her brother and father. The only problem is they left the park weeks ago.”  
  
“Oh yeah, sorry,” Shiro says sheepishly.

“… Are you alright?” Allura asks, softening her tone considerably. “You seem a bit … preoccupied.”  
  
“It’s nothing,” he assures her. 

“If you say so,” she says, not sounding entirely convinced. 

With that settled, Shiro grabs his pack and makes his way down the creaky tower steps to the cache box, peeking inside with an expectantly. He is not disappointed, and grins when he spots a short note tucked inside the box. His expression shifts from pleased to intrigued as he reads the note, lips tugging into a smirk.

  
_Come find me._

 

Beneath Keith’s neat script are a set of coordinates, which Shiro eagerly marks on his map. After tucking the note away, he makes his way down the familiar path through Arus meadow to the lake. A few birds, startled by his approach, take off in a flurry, sending ripples dancing across the water’s surface. The sunlight shimmers over the waves and Shiro finds himself momentarily hypnotized at the sight.

It feels like just yesterday he was confiscating Keith’s stereo, incurring the younger man’s wrath. But Shiro can’t bring himself to feel guilty. Not anymore. Not when it’s the whole reason they got together in the first place.

With a fond smile he continues to the supply cache a few yards away. Inside, he finds another note and smirks at the cheeky missive.

 

_Getting warmer._

 

After marking the next spot onto the map, he turns to trek through the canyon and it’s not long before he’s climbing up the shale slide.  The sun’s rays settle over his back like a warm blanket and sweet, fresh air fills his lungs. As Shiro hikes, he recognizes the area he first saw the Holts in before reluctantly sending them packing. That was the same day he found Keith climbing the fence.

Shiro chuckles softly to himself as he crests the rolling hills. 

At the time, he never would have believed the little spitfire’s fists would turn out to be the gentlest hands he’s ever held. He never would have guessed that the boy’s smoldering eyes could burn with anger _for_ him instead of _at_ him. He never would have imagined that those lips, twisted in rage, could part into a smile that never fails to make his heart melt.

Wispy blades of grass slowly thin out, making way for scorched earth that crunches noisily beneath Shiro’s heavy boots. What Shiro once believed to be a scene of death and destruction now teems with life in the form of tender saplings and twittering birds that dart between charred trees, filling the air with their songs.

He smooths his hand over the rough, cracked bark, reminiscent of his own scarred flesh.  A soft smile pulls at his lips as he recalls Keith’s musings.

_It’s funny how something so destructive can make way for something better._

He breaks off a piece of charred bark, spinning it between his fingers.

He’d heard plenty of stories about people who found peace after losing a limb, but he never thought he would be one of them.

His thumb drags across the rough wood, gaze softening.

He can’t say he’s glad he was shot down, nearly killed and imprisoned, and he probably never will, but he is glad that it led him here of all places.

The sharp snap of a branch interrupts Shiro’s reminiscing and his head jerks in the direction of the sound. As Shiro scans area, he catches a blur of movement behind one of the larger trees littering the area.

A playful grin threatens to split his face in two as he cautiously approaches and rounds the tree, shouting, “Gotcha!” 

Someone, who is very much not Keith, yelps and staggers backward. They fall with a grunt, staring up at Shiro behind large, round glasses.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Shiro apologizes, quickly stepping over to the young man with an outstretched hand. “I thought you were someone else." 

"S'okay,” he grunts as Shiro easily pulls him to his feet.

As the boy dusts off his shorts he shoots Shiro bemused look. "Aren’t you a little old for scavenger hunts?"

Shiro blinks. "Huh?"

The kid holds up one of Keith’s notes with wry smile, waving it slightly.

"Oh! Uh –" Shiro stutters, feeling both slightly embarrassed and annoyed at their private game being interrupted.

“I think we got off on wrong foot," the boy says, handing Shiro the note. "I’m Pidge Gunderson. Amateur wildlife photographer." 

He lifts the camera hanging around his neck and flashes the older man a lopsided grin.

Shiro nods, suddenly struck with déjà vu. “Shiro. Fire lookout in Black Tower.”

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise,” Shiro smiles, giving Pidge a quick over as something prods at back of his mind. “Where are your parents?” Shiro asks as he looks around, seeing no sign of any other people. “I mean, you’re a little young to be out here by yourself.” 

Pidge's friendly smile promptly shifts into an offended scowl.

“I’m in college,” he huffs, causing Shiro's brows shoot up.  
  
“In fact,” he continues, letting Shiro's little faux pas slide, “I’m looking for one of my Professors, Samuel Holt. He said he’d be out here conducting research. Have you seen him?”

“Last I heard they’d left the park weeks ago, sorry,” Shiro says with an apologetic shrug.

Pidge frowns, his thick brows creasing behind oversized glasses. “Well … thanks anyway.” 

As Pidge turns to leave, Shiro's love-addled brain manages to remind him of what Allura mentioned earlier.

“Oh, wait! I just remembered something!”

Pidge spins with an expectant look on his face.

“The Holt’s daughter, Katie, ran away from home a few days ago. They think she might be in the park.”

Pidge's hopeful expression morphs into one akin to horror. “What?”

“She’s about 16, uh – she’s got long brown hair …” Shiro stumbles over his words as he racks his brain for details about the runaway girl.

“I know what she looks like,” Pidge says flatly. “I’ve met her before.” 

"Oh, good," Shiro sighs gratefully. “Well, if you see her, tell her that her mother is very worried, and escort her to the nearest Park Official.”

Pidge’s features soften as he nods. “I will.”

As Pidge walks away Shiro unfolds the note.

 

 _Almost there._  

 

Biting back a grin, Shiro pulls out his map and is about to mark the coordinates when he hears Pidge call out.

“Hey Shiro!”

Shiro's head jerks up, pencil hanging limply between his lips.

“Tell Colleen not to worry,” Pidge says with determined smile. “Katie can take care of herself just fine.” 

Shiro just nods and watches as Pidge hikes down the trail. Once Pidge disappears from view, Shiro returns to his map and marks the coordinates before continuing his trek, soon coming across an area he hasn’t been in before. The meandering path is fairly wide and flanked on both sides by walls of rock.  They’re not nearly as tall as the canyon, but too high to scale without equipment. A few yards away he spots the striking yellow of a supply box.

When Shiro unlocks the cache, his eager expression falls into a frown at the absence of any note. Not even a pinecone. Disappointed, he lets the lid drop with a thud, nearly jumping out of his skin when he sees Keith’s grinning face. 

“Jesus Christ! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Shiro gasps, clutching at his chest.

“Sorry,” Keith chuckles, not sounding remotely apologetic as he saunters away wearing a roguish smirk.

Luckily, Shiro’s ire is short lived, and he follows Keith around the bend, eyes widening when he finds himself at the edge of a large meadow.

Dainty red flowers burst between the swaying golden stalks; bending under the weight of bees as they flutter from one bloom to the next. Winding lazily through the field is a thin river, sparkling in the sun as it trips over the rocks that line its meandering path. In the middle of the meadow, atop a small hill, is a large tree with thick boughs and dense foliage that provide a protective circle of shade, a respite from the blistering rays of the sun.

“C’mon,” Keith smiles, grabbing Shiro’s wrist and leading him to the center of the meadow.

Keith wades through the shallow river, letting the cool water slosh around his calves, while Shiro carefully steps from one exposed rock to the next. Under the tree is an old, threadbare blanket laden with apples, jerky, peanut butter, crackers, and curried rice.

It’s like something out of a romance novel. Shiro can almost hear the sappy music swelling as a butterfly floats past on delicate amber wings. It’s a perfect scene to confess in … _tauntingly_ so.

_A picnic lunch, why didn’t I think of that._

Before Shiro can be too disheartened, Keith pats the spot next to him invitingly.

“What’s the occasion?” Shiro asks, settling beside Keith with a grunt.

A soft shade of pink dusts Keith’s cheeks and he shrugs. “I wanted to thank you for taking me star-gazing, and for … everything.”

Shiro’s own face warms at Keith's fond tone and he rubs the back of his neck shyly. “You don’t have to keep thanking me Keith. I wanted to do it. All of it.”

Keith just shrugs again, handing Shiro a container of curried rice. A plume of steam rises when Shiro lifts the lid, dissipating as he inhales the mouth-watering scent. Breakfast was quite a while ago and Shiro eagerly tucks in, moaning happily.

“This is really something Keith,” he says between mouthfuls. 

Keith's chest puffs out a few inches with pride and he pours Shiro some lemonade from the thermos. Shiro accepts the drink eagerly, letting the tart liquid spill down his parched throat.

“And here I thought you lived on granola bars,” Shiro teases, hiding his smirk with the rim of his cup.

There’s no warning as he’s jabbed sharply in the ribs causing some of the sticky beverage to spill.

“Hey!” Shiro whines, pouting at an indifferent Keith.

Rolling his eyes, Keith twists around, muttering something about his knife. After a bit of poking around, he finds the blade, slipping it out from under his jacket with a pleased hum. As Keith reaches for an apple, he knocks over his pack and its contents spill onto the blanket, most notably, a book. Cocking his head, Shiro scans the worn cover before picking it up to read the description on the back.

  
_Eye of the Storm_

_When a meteorologist is found murdered, Slav is forced to race against the clock and the elements before a storm of monumental proportions can erase the only evidence they have._

 

As he flips through it a note slips from between the pages.

 

**8/27**

**Hey C,**

**I got your note about needing to talk, sorry I couldn’t track you down. Don’t know what was so important you couldn’t tell me over the radio. I’ll be in the area for a few days, but I’ll be heading out again soon.**

**– J**

 

“Was this in the cache?” Shiro asks.

Keith turns, gaze falling on the book. He pulls a slice from the core with an audible snap. 

“Yeah, I started reading it while I was waiting, which by the way took  _forever_.”  
  
“Oh c’mon, I didn’t take that long.”

“ _For-e-ver_ ,” Keith says emphatically, shoving the wedge into Shiro’s mouth. 

Shiro momentarily gurgles around the fruit, chewing noisily before tilting his head back to swallow it down with a sigh. 

“Did you have a pleasant hike?” Keith asks, lips tugging into a smirk. “Meet any serial killers?”

“No serial killers,” Shiro chuckles, “Just a nature photographer, said he was looking for the Holts.” 

Arching a brow, Keith begins to cut another slice, knife sliding through the fruit like butter. “Who?” 

“The Holt’s. They were in the park about a month ago doing research." 

“Research?” Keith echoes, fingers stilling. “What kind of research? 

“I’m not sure. They were … vague,” Shiro recalls with a frown. “Something to do with the wildlife I think.”

Furrowing his brows, Keith’s gaze returns to the apple in his hand. While his thumb rubs circles into the smooth surface, he twists the knife between his fingers. The sunlight bounces off the polished blade, creating a spotlight that dances across his frowning features.

“That reminds me,” Shiro continues, breaking Keith from his pensive stupor, “You haven’t seen a young girl around the area have you? I know you get around more than I do."

Keith slowly shakes his head, and hands Shiro another slice. "No ... why?"

“She ran away from home a few days ago," Shiro explains, taking a bite. "Her mom thinks she might have come here." 

Keith sits up straighter. "Are they going to send anyone out looking for her?"

Shiro shrugs and pops the remaining fruit into his mouth. “I don't know ... maybe,” he says, wiping his hand on his shorts.

The crease between Keith’s brows deepens, but he lets the subject drop, settling onto his stomach with a huff. While Keith begins to pluck at a few of the tawny stalks surrounding them, Shiro picks up the discarded book. His fingers skim over the spine before cracking it open, letting the soft sound of shuffling pages distract him from the tumultuous thoughts bubbling to the forefront of his mind, demanding his attention. Despite having the perfect setup for a confession handed to him on a preverbal platter, Shiro is still buzzing with apprehension.

He tries his best to focus on the mystery unfolding on the pages before him but his gaze is drawn to Keith like a magnet. With each stolen glance Shiro finds something new to distract him. In one moment he watches with interest as Keith’s nimble fingers twist and weave flexible stems with practiced ease. The next finds him following a ladybug as it slowly climbs Keith’s arm. Keith just brushes the tiny creature away absentmindedly, never letting his focus stray too far from the task at hand.

The book slips from between Shiro’s fingers and falls to his chest with a soft thump. There’s no point in even pretending to read. Not when each surreptitious glance causes the words to slowly bleed together, a predictable result of his inattention. 

Dappled beams filter through the shifting leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow that dances over Shiro’s closed eyelids. He breaths easily, slow and even. Beside him Keith shifts, brushing against Shiro’s knee. A comforting presence.

Shiro sighs. 

Things are so easy like this. So comfortable. Does he really want to risk losing what they have for something as silly as love?

Before he can follow that train of thought, something tickles at his forehead, distracting him. Shiro scrunches his features at the sensation. After slowly blinking his eyes open, he can make out the blurry outline of Keith leaning over him, hands hovering by Shiro's temples.

Keith quickly retreats, blushing slightly, but his expression is soft, fond. Tilting his head back, Shiro catches a glimpse of dainty red petals resting just above his eyebrows. Carefully, he lifts his fingers to brush against the blossoms.

“What –”  
  
"It's a flower crown," Keith says, quickly pulling away to weave more long stalks together. "I used to be pretty good at ‘em.” 

Rolling onto his side, Shiro stares, spellbound as Keith’s brows pinch together with concentration, the pink tip of his tongue poking through rosy lips. A swell of adoration blooms in Shiro’s chest, causing his pulse to quicken. He can practically feel his confession being hammered onto his ribs with every beat of his heart.

 _I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

But even as his heart compels him to confess, fears start to bubble up like hot tar, threatening to drown him. The most important being: what if Keith doesn’t feel the same They’ve gotten close. Very close. Close enough to bear their souls to each other.  

_I’ve never connected with anyone like I have with you._

Keith opened up to him, confided in him, trusted him.

_It’s nice to just be close to someone._

Like Shiro, Keith is obviously starving for physical touch and has made great progress in showing his desire for it. If Shiro confesses, every touch, every gentle word of praise will be scrutinized, analyzed.

_Will Keith feel betrayed?_

The thought has Shiro swallowing thickly, as if trying to force his feelings down, back into his chest where they belong. But his heart just squeezes painfully. It’s as though his very body is trying to wring the confession out of him. 

A quiet sigh slips past his lips, relieving some of the pressure behind his ribs. 

He has to tell him. Keith deserves to know. He deserves to know he’s loved, cherished. 

More importantly, Shiro he fears that if doesn’t say the words soon, his heart will break through his ribs and confess for him. Then Keith will hear the words in every traitorous beat. 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

With his blood pounding in his ears Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath and closes his eyes.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

“Keith … I –”

“Did you hear that?” Keith says, quirking an eyebrow as he looks around.

Shiro features fall into a scowl of disappoint.

_SERIOUSLY?!_

“Hear what?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he hears a low rumble in the distance.

“ _That_.”  
  
Turning his gaze skyward, Shiro frowns, unclipping the radio from his belt as tumultuous gray clouds slowly inch closer.

“Hey guys, I just heard some thunder.” 

“I’ve been keeping my eyes on a storm front moving in,” Allura promptly replies.

“Yeah, I see it too,” Lance adds. 

“Isn’t that bad? Y’know because …  _lightning_?”

“It just means we’ll be busy,” Allura says.

“ _Soooo_ if you’re out and about you might want to head home,” Lance suggests pointedly. “As long as you’re safe indoors you won’t have to worry about getting hit.”

“Right,” Shiro winces and turns to Keith whose eyes are fixed on the darkening sky. “I guess we should start packing up.” 

Keith hums in agreement and begins unceremoniously shoving his things into his knapsack. With a disgruntled huff, Shiro hoists his pack onto his shoulders and glances at Keith with a forlorn expression. However, his disappointment is soothed when Keith flashes him a soft smile. Exhaling sharply, Shiro puts on a brave face and helps Keith gather his belongings.

Next time. He’ll confess next time.

With everything packed, Shiro reaches for his cap, nearly crushing the delicate flowers atop his head before realizing his mistake. Carefully, he lifts the circlet from his head, twisting it thoughtfully between his fingers. He briefly considers tucking the fragile crown into his pack before slipping his cap in instead. 

A quiet huff of a chuckle attracts his attention to Keith who regards him with a half-smile. “Really?”

“I _like_ it,” Shiro says, tilting his chin up proudly.

Shaking his head, Keith straps the blanket to his rucksack, muttering, “Sap.”

Despite Keith’s objections to Shiro’s sentimentality, the light blush dusting his cheeks and pleased smile are impossible to miss. It makes Shiro’s chest clench with longing. He wants to cup Keith’s blush-warm cheeks and tell him not to hide. He wants to run his fingers through Keith’s inky locks, brushing them aside so he can see Keith’s flushed features. He wants to press feather-light kisses to Keith’s nose, cheeks and eyes. He wants that pink flush to burn bright red, blooming down Keith’s chest and up to his ears. 

"You ever been hit by lightning?" Keith suddenly asks, breaking Shiro out of his amorous trance **.**

"No.” 

"I once read about this guy who was hit by lightning _seven_ times.” 

“Jesus, what a way to go,” Shiro grimaces, sparing the darkening sky a worried glance.

“It didn’t hit all at once,” Keith chuckles briefly before his tone turns serious, “and it wasn’t the lighting that killed him.”

“What did?”

“Suicide,” Keith says solemnly, voice growing quiet and low. “Unrequited love … or something.”

Shiro’s stomach twists. “That’s … awful,” he says and Keith hums in agreement. 

As they hurriedly hike down the trail, Shiro continues to glance nervously at the advancing clouds as they swallow more and more of the sky.

"You’re not worried are you?” Keith asks, lips quirking into a half smile. 

“What? No! Noooooo no no no … well … maybe a little,” Shiro admits sheepishly.

“The chances of getting hit are like, one in a million,” Keith assures him, giving Shiro a hardy slap on the back. “As long as you left your tin foil hat at home, you should be safe.”

Shiro appreciates Keith’s reassuring words and his mouth pulls up at the corner.

Sensing mischief in Shiro’s roguish smile, Keith narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Hmmm … I’m still a little worried. People have told me I have an  _ELECTRIC_  personality.”

“Oof.”

“Guess my pun didn’t  _SPARK_  your interest?”

“Uuuuugh.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t like the _CURRENT_  subject of our conversation?”

“I’m leaving,” Keith shakes his head, hiding a smile as he quickly dashes down the trail ahead of Shiro.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be mad! WATT for me!” Shiro calls out, jogging to catch up with him. 

Just as Shiro reaches Keith’s side, there’s a blinding flash of light and a deafening crack that reverberates through their bodies as a nearby tree is split in two. Bits of flaming branches and bark slough off like a snake shedding its skin, falling to the rocky ground surrounding them.

“FUCK!” Is all Keith can manage before Shiro grabs his arm, yanking him away from the burning debris.

Shiro sprints away, virtually dragging Keith down a rough trail he’d seen on previous hikes. The path is steep, and the pair practically slides down it in their haste as another flash rips through the air. A few cool, fat droplets are their only warning before the heavens open, surrounding them in a downpour that roars around them.

Luckily, the cave entrance is only a few yards away and Shiro has never been more relived to see a cave in his life. He quickly pulls Keith inside, soaked but safe as they gasp for breath. With Keith pressed protectively to his chest, Shiro can feel the younger man’s shoulders shaking, and he peers down at him with concern.  
  
"Keith, are you –"  
  
He's promptly cut off by a delightful peal of laughter that echoes through the cave, leaving him momentarily stunned. However, the giddy sound is infectious, and Shiro can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest as he presses their foreheads together.

“Well,” Shiro gasps breathlessly, as a few more giggles slip past Keith’s lips, “That was exciting.”

Keith opens his eyes to peek up at Shiro through thick bangs, biting his lip as he grins.  
  
Shiro stares; mesmerized by the way Keith’s teeth sink into the plump flesh of his lower lip before releasing their hold, leaving his lip swollen and shiny. It sparks something deep inside him, embers fanned into flames.

Overwhelmed with desire, Shiro closes his eyes and leans in. Hot breath mingles as the tips of their noses brush. Keith inhales sharply, fingers tightening around Shiro’s shoulders.

“Shi –”

“GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR SHIRO … You there?”

Shiro’s eyes snap open, back slamming into the cave wall while Keith jumps away like he’s been burned. 

“Hey! You didn’t get hit by lightning did you?” Lance continues. 

Shiro mumbles a curse as his fingers scramble for purchase on the radio.  
  
“Yes! I mean – no, Lance, I’m fine,” he sighs irritably, brushing aside the hair plastered to his brow with his forearm.

“Hey! You’re not dead! Great!” Lance cheers. 

But Shiro starts to wish he was when he glances at Keith who is nervously adjusting his clothing and hair a few feet away. The younger man tugs at the hem of his shirt a little too hard and his eyes dart around the cave’s interior in a miserable attempt at acting casual.

“– got that?”

“Hm? Yeah, got it …” Shiro mumbles before clipping his radio to his belt.  
  
“I should probably get going, make sure everything is tied down for the night,” Keith says, twisting his fingers in his hair.  
  
“Yeah. Right. Ok. See you tomorrow?”

Keith hums a halfhearted reply before making his way out of the cave. As soon as he’s out of sight Shiro lets himself lean against the cool cave wall, berating himself under his breath.  
  
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” He hisses, pounding his fist against his forehead.

After a few minutes he reluctantly pushes off the wall and begins the trek home, grateful that the sudden downpour ended as quickly as it started. Perhaps Mother Nature is taking pity on him. After all, there’s no need for him to walk back in the rain, no matter how thematically appropriate it might feel.

By the time Shiro is safely in his tower the sky is nearly black with roiling clouds. And Shiro paces; a vain attempt to burn off his nervous energy. When that doesn’t work, he falls back on his old methods of blowing off steam.

Planting his left palm firmly onto the ground, Shiro twists his right arm behind his back, straightens his legs, and slowly lowers his rigid body parallel to the floor before pushing away with practiced control. Dr. Montgomery used to call it his most overused coping mechanism. But it’s his least destructive by far.

Besides, it not like he’ll be able to fall asleep in his current state, not with the memories of his earlier actions still fresh in his mind. Behind closed eyes the scene replays in an endless, torturous loop. Mocking him. He sees drops of rain slide slowly down Keith’s flushed face, lips dewy and red. Lips so soft and inviting, just waiting to be kissed, suckled. Lips parted in a gasp as he –

A flash illuminates the cabin; followed by a low rumble that draws Shiro out of his lewd fantasies and to the window. Another reedy thread of light snakes across the murky sky and dread wriggles its way in Shiro’s gut, twisting into anxious knots. ~~~~

 _Will Keith really be ok out there?_  

Shiro knows Keith is more adept better at wilderness survival than most people, but still …

He thinks back to the cave, recalling Keith’s fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps. Keith’s surprised gasp when he leaned in to kiss him. Keith’s eyes nervously darting around, never meeting his.

His gaze drops to his desk, falling on the flower crown.

 **T** he petals are soft and smooth against his callused fingers. He strokes them gently, taking care not to crush the dainty buds, which are surprisingly delicate given the rough environment they survive in.

_Just like Keith._

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees another flash of lighting and hears a deep roar uncomfortably close to Keith’s campsite. Setting his jaw, Shiro grabs his cap, tugging it down with deliberation. The door slams shut behind him as he tears down the stairs, his lumbering steps muffled by the thunder. 

The wind is beginning to pick up when Shiro finally arrives at Keith’s campsite. As he jogs closer, his concern turns into confusion when he realizes Keith isn’t setting up his tent, he’s tearing it down.

Fear sinks its claws into Shiro’s chest, momentarily robbing him of breath.

No. Keith can’t leave, not like this.  
  
“Keith!”

The man drops the pole in his hand as his head snaps in Shiro’s direction, eyes wide as saucers.  
  
“Shiro?” He gapes and rushes to the older man’s side.

“What are you doing?” Shiro pants, eyes darting between Keith’s face and the collapsed tent.

“I need to go into town for supplies,” Keith says plainly, like it makes perfect sense.

“In the middle of a _storm_?” Shiro says incredulously, just before a roar of thunder emphasizes his point.

Keith shrugs.

“This is ridiculous,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “You can’t stay out in this weather. Come with me.”

Swallowing down his fear and lingering embarrassment, Shiro gently tugs at Keith’s arm but he can feel him hesitate. His stomach sinks.  
  
“That’s not necessar–”  
  
A sudden, blinding flash of lighting interrupts him, immediately followed by a deafening clap of nearby thunder.   
  
“On second thought … I think I’ll take you up on your offer,” Keith says, wide eyed.

“What about the tent?” Shiro frowns, looking over his shoulder just as another wiry bolt streaks overhead.

“Fuck the tent! It’s a lightning rod now!” Keith yells over din, grabbing Shiro’s hand as they race to safety.

Just as they near the tower there's another cloud burst, drenching them as they scramble up the steps, only for it to stop as quickly as it began. Both let out a sigh of relief once they step inside the cabin, water dripping from their soaked hair and clothing.

After catching his breath, Shiro crosses the room and opens the drawer at the foot of his bed, fishing out nightshirts, boxers and towels.  
  
“Here,” he says softly, handing the items to Keith.

“What –”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed with wet clothes,” Shiro chuckles softly, trying his best to lighten the awkward atmosphere surrounding them.

“Oh … Thanks,” Keith says, accepting the proffered clothes. “What do I do with …” Keith trails off, lifting an arm limply from inside his soggy jacket, heavy with rain.  
  
“Oh, uh … just drop your clothes on the floor. I’ll pick ‘m up when you’re done.”

Keith nods and turns his back to Shiro as he begins to peel of his clothes. The jacket hits the floor with a wet thud, soon followed by his shirt. Shiro tries his best to focus his own task of disrobing but his gaze is drawn to Keith like a moth to flame – undeniably dangerous, but impossible to resist.

Keith’s fingers hesitantly skim over the edges of his gloves, seemingly debating whether or not to take them off. Shaking his head, his hands travel lower to jerkily pull at his belt.

Meanwhile, Shiro stares with rapt attention as Keith moves. He imagines what it would feel like to run his fingers over the rolling muscles of Keith’s back before sliding up to tangle in the soft locks caressing his nape.

The sharp clink of the buckle hitting the floor startles Shiro from his ogling and he hastily reminds himself that Keith wants privacy, and turns to undress as well. 

Once dried, dressed, and devoid of his prosthetic, Shiro turns to Keith and his mouth goes suddenly dry. The nightshirt, already large on Shiro, dwarfs Keith and his shoulder peeks cheekily from the wide collar. Swallowing thickly, Shiro ducks his head, hoping to hide his flushing face as he kneels to pick up their discarded clothes.

“You uh – you can go on and hop into bed,” Shiro mumbles.

“Thanks,” Keith says quietly, and turns to slip under the covers.

Shiro brings the damp clothing to the empty sink, wringing the water out as best he can before hanging them on the indoor clothes line. Once finished, he has a new problem to tackle. He looks around room, rubbing his chin as he considers where he’s going to sleep. Luckily, his thoughts are interrupted when Keith clears his throat, diverting his attention.

He turns to see Keith lifting up the blanket. “You coming?” 

Shiro’s eyes widen.

_Oh god I really am in a romance novel._

The only difference is that in books and movies the unlikely couple overcomes whatever cliché obstacle is coming between them by the end and they live happily ever after. There’s no way Shiro’s that lucky.

His silence and wide-eyed stare begins to unnerve Keith who lets the blanket droop, brows creasing. “… or not.”

Shiro blinks and a warm flush creeps across his cheeks. “What? Oh yeah … of course.”

After turning out the light, Shiro slips beneath the covers, purposefully keeping his back to Keith. The bed creaks under their combined weight. It was probably not designed to support two full grown men, especially when one of them is Shiro’s size.  He scoots as close to the edge of the bed as possible, barely covered by the blanket as he pillows his head with his hand. Likewise, Keith presses closer to the wall and shifts till his back faces Shiro’s.

“… Goodnight,” Keith whispers softly, as if trying not to be heard.

“… Night,” Shiro murmurs in reply. 

The night wears on noisily. Around them, the windowpanes rattle in the wind while the beams creak and moan. But even with all the noise, Shiro can still hear the soft sounds of Keith breathing.

In romance novels, the protagonist would be lulled to sleep by their beloved’s breathing. But the sound doesn’t settle Shiro’s heart. If anything it just makes it accelerate. 

It’s horrible. Even though there’s mere inches of space between the two of them, it feels like they’re miles apart. This isn’t what he wanted at all.

“Keith … you awake?”

“…Yeah.”

“ … We should talk.” 

Keith peers over his shoulder, locking eyes with the older man. With a huff, Keith rolls on his side to face Shiro who mirrors the motion. Keith’s eyes are is as intense as the first day they fought, dark and confrontational, and Shiro has to look away. His gaze lowers, falling on the sharp jut of Keith’s collarbones and the slight swell of his pectorals, barely hidden by the drooping neck of his oversized shirt.

So as not to be distracted, Shiro briefly squeezes his shut and takes a deep breath.

“I want to apologize for what I did in the cave,” he sighs, settling his gaze on the few inches of white sheet between them, “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry.”

Beside him, Keith shifts almost imperceptibly, tensely, and he says with a hint of resentment, “Are you saying you _didn’t_ want to kiss me?”

Shiro’s chest tightens, the sharp breath he takes in pierces his lungs.

He closes his eyes. He can’t lie. Not to Keith.

“… No.”

Before he can open his eyes to assess the damage, Keith’s fingers are twisting into his collar, lips colliding with his.

The initial shock distracts Shiro from how bad the kiss actually is, forceful and awkward. But what Keith lacks in execution he certainly makes up for with passion and Shiro begins to melt into the kiss, softening it significantly. Keith pulls away far too soon for Shiro’s liking and he chases Keith’s lips with a soft whine. When he finally opens his eyes they widen at the sight of Keith with a gorgeous flush staining his cheeks, lips pink and shiny.

Shiro’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest as he pants, “Why?”  

Keith’s tries to casually shrug but his ruddy complexion betrays him. 

“Because you wanted to kiss me and I … I wanted to kiss you too.”

“Then why … at the cave –”

“I got scared. I thought … I thought you didn’t like me like that,” Keith confesses before weakly chuckling. “I couldn’t even get up the nerve to kiss you when I was drunk, how the hell was I supposed do it sober?”

Shiro’s brows arch. “Wait … drunk?”

Keith’s blush spreads, reaching up to his ears and down his chest as Shiro’s eyes widen with realization.

“… You mean –”

 “I thought if I was drunk … one of us might make a move,” Keith admits with a hint of embarrassment. “But in the end, you didn’t seem interested, and I just chickened out.”

Faced with this new information, Shiro’s brows furrow with thought. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?” 

“How long have  _you_  wanted to kiss me?” Keith counters stubbornly. ~~~~

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

Shiro exhales a breathy laugh. How can Keith go from serious to silly so fast? Shiro shakes his head with a smile. It doesn’t matter. He loves it.

“It was a while ago – when we were sparring. You … I don’t know, you looked good and I … I just wanted to,” he mumbles, feeling suddenly shy. Like he’s some sort of love-struck teen. 

“For me it was that first time we were at the caves.”

Shiro’s brows arch. “Seriously?” 

Keith chuckles. “You seduced me with your survivor guilt and sweaty palms.”

The laugh that bubbles up from Shiro’s chest is equal parts relief and elation, buoyant and giddy. He only stops when a gloved hand strokes up his chest, coming the rest on his shoulder.

“Sounds like we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, huh?”  Keith whispers, inching close enough for their noses to brush, his breath hot on Shiro’s lips.  
  
“Yeah ...” Shiro murmurs before closing the gap.  
  
Shiro cups Keith’s cheek as their mouths begin to move, gently at first, before quickly growing more and more eager as wet smacking sounds soon drown out the storm raging outside. 

“You know,” Keith pants, breaking their kiss, “I was actually planning on confessing to you today.”

A cheeky grin carves across Shiro’s face. So he wasn’t imagining the dreamy atmosphere after all. 

“How romantic.”

Keith blushes and huffs, “Oh shut up you big dummy.”

“But I’m _your_ big dummy,” Shiro purrs as he nuzzles closer, causing Keith to giggle when his stubble tickles Keith's jaw.

“And … what about you?” Keith asks, tension suddenly sparking beneath his skin. “… How do you feel?” 

Shiro looks up into Keith’s eyes, catching a flicker of apprehension. Shiro’s lips pull up into a soft smile and he duck his head into the crook of Keith’s neck.

“Well, if I’m _your_ big dummy, than you’re _my_ little dummy.” 

Keith pouts.

“I’m not _that_ little,” he huffs.

“Compared to me, a _‘brick shit house’_ , you are.” 

Keith chuckles. 

“And do you like that?” He teases. 

It’s Shiro’s turn to blush and his eyes dart away nervously. 

“Yeah, actually … I kinda do.” 

“Kinky,” Keith smirks, capturing Shiro’s lips in a wet kiss before he can express his indignation.  
  
His hand snakes around Shiro’s neck to scratch at the short hairs of his nape. The motion sends a delicious shiver down Shiro’s spine and Keith smirks into the kiss, licking at the seam of Shiro’s mouth. A wordless request. 

Without hesitation, Shiro obliges, allowing Keith’s tongue to slip inside and brush against his. Moving his hand to Shiro’s shoulder, Keith pulls himself even closer. Shiro mirrors the motion, sliding his hand to Keith’s hip and slotting their bodies together. Without breaking the kiss, Keith rolls Shiro onto his back and swallows the tiny gasp that escapes Shiro’s parted lips.

Before Shiro can fully enjoy the contact their new position affords, Keith pulls back, grinning like the Cheshire cat when the cleft of his ass brushes teasingly over Shiro's hardening cock as he settles his weight onto Shiro's thick thighs.

Keith pushes Shiro’s nightshirt up to his chin, agonizingly slow. He gently drags blunt nails down Shiro’s chest and abs, drawing out full body shudders from the man underneath him. 

“Fuck … look at you,” Keith breathes in awe.

More often than not, Shiro actively tries to avoid looking at himself, but the adoration in Keith’s voice quickly squashes any inclination to hide himself from Keith’s intense gaze. Suddenly, Keith leans down, latching onto a nipple. Shiro gasps at the sensation. After sucking on the hardening peak, Keith begins circling it with the tip of his tongue. Shiro eyes screw shut, fingers twisting the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Keith murmurs. His panting breaths cool Shiro’s spit soaked nipple, causing it to pebble further. “That first time we swam at the lake … it was so hard for me not to stare.” 

“M-me too,” Shiro grunts as Keith moves to his other nipple, giving it a similarly thorough treatment, “it was hard for me too.” 

Above him Keith ceases his ministrations, lifting his head to stare at Shiro with an astonished expression. “Really?”

 Shiro nods, smiling fondly as he tucks wayward locks of hair behind Keith’s blush-reddened ear.

“I thought …” Keith ducks his head again, cheeks darkening, “I  _hoped_  that I wasn’t just imagining the hungry look in your eyes when you stared at me.”  
  
“You weren’t,” Shiro admits, voice low and rough with arousal. “Though I didn’t know it at the time … wouldn’t acknowledge it.”

Cocking his head in confusion, Keith asks, “What do you mean?”

Shiro blushes, his self-doubt seeming silly given their current situation.

“I guess I never thought I’d ever be able to be intimate with someone like that – like  _this,"_ he runs his hand up and down Keith’s thigh for emphasis, enjoying the way Keith's muscles twitch beneath his fingers. “Plus … you always seemed so … untouchable,” he adds shyly.

Keith’s eyes widen at the remark and he ducks head, snickering into Shiro’s chest before peering up through thick bangs and hooded eyes. “Don’t you remember what I told you?” He grabs Shiro’s hand, slowly bringing it up to cup his ass, grinning when Shiro inhales sharply. “You can touch me wherever you want.”  
  
Shiro gives an experimental squeeze, earning a breathy moan from Keith who rocks back into the touch. Emboldened, Shiro slowly slides his hand beneath Keith’s boxers, groping and kneading at the supple flesh of his thighs and ass.

Keith’s breathing is coming out in ragged pants when he leans down to capture Shiro’s lips. The kiss is wet and messy, a testament to their desperation as Keith spreads his legs to grind against him in earnest. Shiro’s heels dig into the mattress as his hips jerk up involuntarily, thighs tensing.

The soft fabric of Keith’s oversized shirt drags against Shiro’s oversensitive nipples as they rock together in a lazy rhythm. A wanton groan slips past Shiro’s lips, muffled by Keith’s mouth. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough. He wants skin on skin. He wants to touch and taste as much of Keith as possible. He wants to tangle their limbs together until he doesn’t know where he begins and Keith ends.

“Ah, Keith –” Shiro pants while Keith continues to press hungry kisses to his mouth. “W-wait.”

With great difficulty, Shiro tilts his head back, causing Keith to press a kiss to his chin.  
  
Pulling back with a confused pout, Keith huffs, “What?”  
  
Keith’s lips are kiss-swollen and shiny and Shiro has to screws his eyes shut to focus, voice tight with restraint. “Before we lose our heads …” he begins slowly, eyes boring into Keith’s, “How far do you want to go?”  
  
Keith’s brows creep to his hairline. After considering Shiro for a moment he leans in, breath ghosting across Shiro’s lips. “As far as you’ll take me.”  
  
With that, the final, fraying thread of Shiro’s restraint snaps and he pushes Keith onto his back, settling between Keith’s hips.  As Keith bounces slightly on the mattress, he stares up at Shiro with a surprised but pleased expression. Grinning deviously, Keith locks his ankles around Shiro’s backside, lifting his hips to grind his ass against Shiro’s dick.  
  
Shiro moans and ruts against him, snapping his hips in a desperate attempt to chase the delicious friction. “Keith … you can’t just say –  _do_  things like that.”

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of Keith’s mouth as he loops his arms around Shiro's neck, pulling him closer.  
  
“Then stop me,” he murmurs, biting gently on the soft flesh of Shiro’s earlobe.  
  
The moan that’s ripped from Shiro's lungs is almost feral as he tugs roughly at the waistband Keith’s boxers. “Take these off.”

Keith quickly obliges, untangling his arms from Shiro’s neck to lift his hips and hastily shove the underwear down to his ankles. Leaning away to give him space, Shiro chuckles at the way Keith sends the boxers flying across the room before struggling to extract himself from his oversized shirt.

“Here, let me help you.”  
  
After a brief struggle, Keith is freed and he shakes his head, causing his hair to stick out in random directions. With a fond smile, Shiro runs his fingers through Keith’s silky locks, smoothing down wayward cowlicks. Keith leans into the gentle touch and closes his eyes with a pleased hum.

Shiro smiles at the gesture, eyes trailing lower down Keith’s lithe body. His gaze comes to rest on Keith’s cock, flushed and twitching against his thigh. While Shiro stares, practically drooling at the sight, Keith’s knees tremble as he struggles to resist the urge to cover himself.

“You too,” Keith murmurs, shyly tugging at the hem of Shiro’s shirt.  
  
A cheeky smile pulls at Shiro’s lips. “As you wish.”  
  
Due to Keith’s ardent praise, Shiro's timidity at displaying his marred skin is has faded into a mere whisper and he decides to make more of a show of undressing than Keith had in his eagerness. Keith sits up straighter when Shiro slides off the bed and grabs the back of his shirt, making sure to show off his assets as he slowly strips. Tossing his shirt aside, Shiro is unable to repress a chuckle at Keith’s blatant ogling.

“Like what you see?” Shiro teases despite nervous fluttering in his stomach.

“God yes,” Keith says breathlessly, eyes hungrily roving across the expanse of skin.

Shiro shivers, almost feeling the reverent caress of Keith’s gaze. Suddenly, Keith’s eyes flick up to meet Shiro’s, still dark and eager.

“Now show me something new.”

Obediently, Shiro hooks his thumb into the elastic and pulls downward, trying not to hiss when the fabric drags across his sensitive cock. Once it reaches his knees, he lets gravity take over, kicking the underwear aside when it pools around his ankles. His eyes dart up to Keith’s which are wide and focused entirely on a certain part of Shiro’s anatomy.

"Oh …" he says.  
  
Shiro blushes bright red at the comment and his knees knock together. His hand rubs along the bicep of his right arm, fingers kneading at the scarred flesh.

"Is that good or …"  
  
“It’s good it’s …  _very_  good. I … I just don’t think my imagination did you justice,” Keith admits, swallowing thickly as he scans Shiro’s length.  
  
Somehow, Shiro’s face darkens further and he sputters, “W-what?” 

Keith’s eyes dart up to meet Shiro’s, holding the older man’s gaze. Rising onto his knees, Keith throws his arms around Shiro’s neck, pulling him in for a surprisingly chaste kiss. Shiro sighs against Keith’s mouth, only breaking the kiss when he’s practically dragged back onto the bed.

Between soft pecks Keith manages to crawl into Shiro’s lap. Both gasp at the overwhelming heat of their bare bodies pressed together, finally unimpeded by clothes or reservations. Keith uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss and dips his tongue in as his hands move to cup Shiro’s face. Meanwhile, Shiro places his hand on Keith’s shoulder, slowly dragging his fingers down the toned muscles of his arm, eventually stopping at his wrist.

With a wet pop, Shiro breaks the kiss and breathlessly whispers, “These too.” 

As the tips of his fingers slip beneath the fraying edges of the gloves, Keith stiffens, growing suddenly rigid in Shiro’s hold.

"Hey, it’s ok," Shiro murmurs soothingly, pressing his lips to the worn leather encasing Keith's wrist. "I know a thing or two about scars." He smiles reassuringly, giving his nose a tap for emphasis.

The corners of Keith’s eyes crinkle as he quickly looks away with a pained expression, voice low, "Not like these…"

Shiro can feel Keith’s blood pulsing through his veins as his thumb grazes the hem of Keith’s gloves. He closes eyes with a sigh.

"… Not all scars like these are visible," he says, equally hushed.  
  
Keith’s eyes widen as they meet Shiro's, slowly softening and closing as he leans in, pressing his lips the Shiro’s. While Keith leans back, Shiro’s hand slips down to Keith’s hip, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. The way Keith peels off the gloves, slowly revealing his long slender fingers, is almost erotic and Shiro finds his heartbeat skipping at the sight.

Sitting ramrod straight, Keith lets the gloves fall to the floor and lifts his wrists as if for Shiro’s inspection. Shiro finger’s gently curl around Keith’s wrist, ghosting over his thrumming pulse. Despite the obviousness of Shiro’s intentions, Keith still inhales sharply when Shiro leans down, covering the scarred skin with a long, reverent kiss. A slight smile tugs at Shiro’s lips as he moves on, pressing a kiss to Keith’s palm followed by light pecks to the tip of each calloused finger. With damp eyes, Keith smiles fondly, allowing Shiro to repeat the tender gesture on his other hand.

When Shiro finishes, Keith cups his cheeks, pressing his lips to the scar bisecting Shiro's nose. Next, he leaves soft pecks on Shiro's eyelids, then along his cheeks, jaw and chin. Shiro smiles, nose wrinkling at the ticklish sensation, and sighs happily when Keith’s mouth finally meet his.  
  
After a series of chaste pecks that slowly grow more enthusiastic, Shiro tentatively brushes his tongue along the seam of Keith’s lips. Keith smiles at the shy gesture, letting Shiro deepen the kiss as he falls back, pulling Shiro down with him.

The yelp Shiro emits as they bounce against the mattress has Keith giggling playfully. Shiro shoots a glare at the man beneath him. It’s not convincing. He’s too busy admiring the way Keith's inky locks splay against the white pillow and caress his rosy cheeks, accentuating his dark hooded eyes for it to have the desired effect. Shiro dips down and playfully nips at Keith's jaw before nuzzling into his neck, sucking at the flushed skin.

“Sh-iro,” Keith sighs, throwing his head back, hips jerking up, seeking friction as Shiro's length drags teasingly against his.

Emboldened, Shiro nibbles at the sensitive flesh beneath Keith’s ear before murmuring hotly, “I want to make love to you.”

The words make Keith shiver. At least Shiro thinks it’s a shiver, only to lean back when he hears a strangled snicker.  
  
An embarrassed flush creeps across Shiro’s face as he frowns. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” Keith giggles, trying, and failing, to suppress an amused grin.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Shiro pulls away, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“No, no,” Keith chuckles gently, cupping Shiro’s face. “It was perfect … you’re perfect.” 

Keith moves his hands to card through Shiro’s hair, rubbing soothing circles into Shiro’s temples with his thumbs.

“Say it again” Keith whispers, low and eager.

“I want to … make love to you,” Shiro mumbles timidly.

“Again.”

Shiro takes a deep breath.

“I want to make love to you,” he repeats with confidence.

Keith’s smile widens as he pulls Shiro’s face down to meet his.

“Is it – a terrible – urge?” He murmurs between kisses as he makes his way from Shiro’s lips down his jaw to his throat, nipping at Shiro's Adam's apple as it bobs.

Shiro exhales a shuddery sigh. “The worst.”

Keith pulls himself up to stare deeply into Shiro’s hooded, grey eyes. 

“Well, someone once told me to always give into an urge,” Keith says with an impish grin, “Especially if it’s terrible.”

Shiro smirks back but his smile falters almost immediately, causing Keith to frown.

“Well, I would but I uh –” Shiro blushes, his eyes shyly darting away from Keith, “I don’t have any … er –”

Keith’s furrowed eyebrows raise as he quickly catches on.

“Oh.” 

Shiro nods, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Not now then,” Keith says dejectedly. 

“Not now,” Shiro agrees, equally disappointed.

“But not never,” Keith says with a hopeful lilt, looping his arms around Shiro’s neck to pull him closer.

Shiro opens his eyes, smiling as their noses brush.

“We have all summer,” Keith continues, hot breath ghosting over Shiro’s parted lips as he drags Shiro down into a messy kiss.

 Shiro moans into Keith’s mouth before pulling back with a wet pop.

“All summer,” he murmurs, smiling like an idiot, face practically glowing as a heady blush creeps across his features.

“Besides …” Keith says, legs wrapping around Shiro's waist to pull him closer, “There are a lot of other fun things we can do.”

“Do any of those fun things involve lying down?” Shiro asks, suddenly regretting all those pushups he did earlier. “This position is a little hard on my arm.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Yeah, of course.”

Shiro lets out a huff of laughter when Keith gives his left shoulder a gentle shove that has him flopping onto his right side.  
  
Keith scoots closer, brows slightly pinched with concern. “Better?”  
  
“Mmmm, much,” Shiro smiles, fingers brushing against the dips and bumps of Keith’s ribs as his hand slides down to Keith’s waist then ass, giving the flesh a gentle squeeze.

A pleased hum rumbles in Keith’s throat as Shiro’s hand wanders lower.  
  
“So,” Keith murmurs, brushing their noses together as he presses against Shiro, “You got something in mind big guy?”  
  
“I do …” he begins, his soft smile twisting into a slight frown, “but I don’t know if it’ll work as well without lube.”

 Keith just shrugs, “We can always give it a try, and if it doesn’t work we can just do something else.”

 “Flexible.”

Keith smirks, “You have no idea.”

Memories of Keith’s lithe body twisting and weaving as they sparred flood Shiro’s mind and a knowing smile settles on his lips. 

“Besides …” Keith continues, eyes darting away from Shiro’s face as his cheeks are stained with a shy blush, “I’m just happy to be with you.”

 Smiling fondly, Shiro presses a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “Me too.”

 Keith hums as Shiro brushes his bangs aside, tucking the long, unruly strands behind his ear with little success.

“Can you flip over?”  
  
Keith nods and rolls onto his right side, facing the wall.  
  
“Like this?” He asks, peeking over his shoulder at Shiro whose fingers sink into Keith’s hip, tugging him closer.  
  
“Yeah,” Shiro says huskily, experimentally grinding his dick into cleft of Keith’s ass, leaving a sticky trail of precome in its wake.

A low moan slips past Keith’s lips and his hand flies back to grope for Shiro’s hip. Blunt nails dig into the taut flesh of Shiro’s ass, ripping a groan from his throat as Keith pulls him closer.

“Don’t be a tease,” Keith scolds, voice thick with arousal.  
  
Shiro kisses Keith’s shoulder apologetically, smirking against the flushed skin. “Sorry babe.”

With a deep breath, Shiro leans away and spits into his hand, adding it to the precome dripping down the side of his dick. Once reasonably slicked up, Shiro nudges the blunt tip between Keith’s sweat-tacky thighs. 

“Clench for me baby?” He pants hotly against Keith’s neck.

Keith obliges and squeezes his thighs together, causing Shiro to groan as his hips snap forward. The sticky friction borders on too dry, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re too eager to last long anyway. 

With each thrust, Shiro’s hold tightens and the sounds he’d tried not to fantasize about spill freely from Keith’s lips, punctuated by breathy gasps. 

Releasing his death-grip on Keith’s thigh, Shiro slides his hand up Keith’s toned torso, reveling in each twitching muscle. Fingers dance across flushed skin, coming to rest over the modest swell of the younger man’s pectorals. He experimentally flicks a pert nipple before pinching and tugging it between his forefinger and thumb.

Keith moans and arches into the touch, reaching his arm back to pull Shiro into a sloppy kiss. It’s even less controlled than their previous attempts, needy and desperate in their desire for contact. While Keith’s tongue drags against Shiro’s, his nails scrape the short hairs at Shiro’s nape, causing the older man to shiver.

With his left hand occupied, Keith slides his right down to his leaking cock, giving it a series of quick strokes. Shiro notices Keith’s stuttering hips and his hand slides down to join. Keith breaks their kiss to moan, fucking into Shiro’s hand when he drags a callused thumb over the slit and catches a bead of precome that dribbles messily down his fingers.  
  
“I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry babe,” Shiro coos.

He nips at the soft flesh of Keith’s earlobe, teeth catching on his earring with a soft click. Keith whines, squeezing his thighs impossibly tight around Shiro whose thrusts become jerkier as he reaches his climax.

“Sh-Shiro I’m – I’m –”  
  
“M-me too.”  
  
Wet slapping sounds fill the cabin, punctuated by breathy gasps and moans as the pair reach their peaks.  Burying his face into the pillow, Keith’s jaw drops in a silent scream as he spills into Shiro’s fist. Despite Keith’s voice being muffled, Shiro can make out a few syllables that sound suspiciously like _‘Takashi’_.

With a low groan, Shiro sinks sticky fingers into the meat of Keith’s thigh and thrusts, once, twice, before painting Keith’s tan thighs white.  
  
“Keith,” Shiro pants into the crook of Keith’s neck as they both come down from their respective highs.

Fingers brush along Shiro’s cheek, guiding him into a gentle kiss, soft and slow. It’s perfect. He sighs against Keith’s lips before reluctantly pulling away, wincing as his oversensitive cock slides from between Keith’s sticky thighs.

He pads over to the sink on wobbly legs and grabs a dish towel, giving it a good soak before squeezing out the excess. After washing off his hand, Shiro returns to bed, towel in hand. He stops at the side of the bed, taking in the sight of Keith, flushed and glistening with sweat. All because of him. A strange swell of pride courses through him at the thought.

The mattress dips as he kneels, slipping the cloth between Keith’s thighs. Keith whimpers with overstimulation, legs twitching as the damp fabric caresses his overheated skin. Shiro presses an apologetic kiss to his shoulder before tossing the soiled towel aside, a problem for tomorrow. He tugs the sheets and blanket that were unceremoniously shoved to the end of the bed up and over them.

Keith rolls over, pressing himself close to Shiro who gently pulls Keith till he’s draped across his chest. Keith sighs contentedly as exhaustion overtakes him. His breathing falls into a slow, even pattern as he drifts off.

But sleep does not come as easily for Shiro.

Despite the long day and his recent  _activities_ , sleep eludes him. There’s something coursing through his veins. A giddy, eager feeling he can’t quite place. Like a kid on Christmas Eve.

While he stares blankly at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly thread through Keith’s hair, kneading the base of his skull. His hand travels lower to Keith’s shoulder, smoothing across the expanse of warm, soft skin.

A soft snore draws Shiro’s gaze back down to Keith whose hand is possessively cupping the pec he’s not drooling on. Shiro’s mouth twitches into a fond smile and he skims a finger over Keith’s parted lips.

“Gross,” Shiro chuckles and closes his eyes with a sigh.

He can feel Keith’s heartbeat thumping alongside his own while warm puffs of air ghost across his chest. The soothing sound, coupled with the warmth of bare skin on skin, soon has Shiro’s eyes fluttering closed. But before sleep completely overtakes him, Shiro presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head, nuzzles into the dark locks, and whispers, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts (because that's totally what you want to read about after all that smut):  
> 1.The man Keith mentions is a real life dude named Roy Sullivan.  
> 2\. The chances of getting hit by lightening is actually it’s 1 in 960,000 but Keith was close enough.
> 
> It nice to finally see that Keith is as smitten with Shiro as Shiro is with Keith.
> 
> I hope y'all don't mind me gushing about my my own writing, but I kinda want to talk about Keith's side of things now that his feelings have been revealed. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
> 
> All of Keith’s attempts at flirting have focused on Shiro’s feelings. “Like what YOU see?” “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say YOU just wanted see me shirtless again.” ect. Keith has been gauging Shiro’s interest for a while now, he knows Shiro cares about him and he values their friendship, but he didn't want to risk losing it over something as silly as falling in love. As y'all might have noticed, Shiro is about as subtle as a runaway train when it comes to his attraction, and Keith definitely noticed. He considered that Shiro might be interested in him, but every time he gave Shiro an opportunity to express that interest, he either denied it or ignored it - and it's not like Keith wasn't trying! That boy went hard. I mean ... sensual sparring? *Attempted* skinny-dipping? Massages? Romantic slow-dancing at sunset? A picnic lunch? Really Shiro? How oblivious can you get?


	25. Day 60

****The bed creaks softly as Shiro shifts in his sleep, its only complaint regarding the previous night’s activities. He smacks his lips, searching the mattress blindly. Only a warm outline is left in Keith’s absence. Frowning, he sits up groggily to see the dark silhouette of Keith dressing. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Shiro licks his lips appreciatively, admiring the way Keith’s jeans hug his subtle curves. He continues to watch is silence, only speaking up when Keith grabs his backpack.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles, voice raspy with disuse.

Keith’s whole body jerks in surprise. He turns to Shiro with wide eyes before relaxing, smiling gently. Even in the low light, Shiro can see the affection in Keith’s violet eyes as he makes his way to the bed. The mattress dips as he sits down and brushes Shiro’s forelock off his face. Shiro leans into the touch with a pleased hum.

“I have to go into town for supplies, remember?”

A crease forms between Shiro’s brows as he considers Keith’s words for a moment, letting his lower lip jut out.

“Oooooor …” he slowly winds his arm around Keith’s waist, pulling him down, “You could stay here with me?”

He looks up at Keith hopefully, doing his best impression of a kicked puppy.

“Nice thought,” Keith smirks, “but I can’t live on love. I’ll starve.” 

“I’ll feed you.”

“You don’t have enough for the both of us, you big dummy,” he ruffles Shiro’s hair affectionately, before pulling away.   
  
Just as Keith turns to walk away, he’s stopped by Shiro’s hand holding onto his.

“It’s just for five days,” Keith reassures him, kissing his forehead, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he strokes Shiro’s cheek.

“Shave before I get back,” he says, giving Shiro’s lips a quick peck before standing.

His hand slowly slips out of Shiro’s as he walks away and out the door.

Once Keith is out of sight, Shiro flops back with a sigh, still hazy with sleep and buzzing from Keith’s kisses.

“I had sex with Keith," he says out loud, like he can hardly believe the words.

He grins.

“I had sex with Keith AND he likes me.”

Shiro bites his lip to keep it from splitting his face in two.

_He likes me._

_He likes me._

_He likes me._

A happy sigh slips past lips parted in a contented grin and he sinks further into the mattress, inhaling the remnants of their combined scents. A reminder of the previous night’s passion. His nose wrinkles when he starts to feel _physical_ traces as well. It’s a lot less sexy in reality.

Laundry. He’ll have to do laundry later. For now, he rolls away, settling with a sigh. He’s allowed a few more hours of sleep before Allura’s concerned voice emits from the radio.

“Boys, I’ve got a problem.”  
  
_Me too._  
  
_I’m hopelessly in love._

The piercing blare of an air-horn rouses him to full wakefulness and he sits up with a start, glaring at the source of the obnoxious sound. With a huff, Shiro swings his legs over the bed and shuffles over to his desk, plucking the radio from its charger.

“What kind of problem?” He grumbles.

“I’m afraid the storm knocked out the phone line.”

“Meaning …?”

“Meaning, we’re cut off.”

“Shit,” Lance says, adding his own enlightened commentary on the situation.

“Is it fixable?” Shiro asks.

“Yes, but not by either of you,” she says. “Shiro, I need you to hike to where the wire runs through your area and report back where it’s down.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to track down Coran and see if he can come out to fix it.” 

“He … knows how to do that?” 

“Coran is a man of many talents,” Allura says with a hint of pride.

“What about me?” Lance chimes in.

“You stay in your tower and keep an eye out for fires.” 

“Aye aye Cap’n!” Lance replies. Shiro can almost hear him saluting.

“Didn’t the storm douse the fire even a little bit?” Shiro asks. 

“I’m afraid it had the opposite effect,” Allura sighs. “The lighting started another fire about a mile south of the Keith Fire. If we don’t keep a close eye on them they could merge into one.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“It’s not,” Allura says gravely before continuing. “Now, Shiro, you head toward cave 452, it’s on your map. Go through it and continue north, you should come across the cables. I’ll be out of contact for a while. If you find anything, just tell Lance.” 

“Will do,” Shiro says. 

He dresses quickly, a task made easier by the fact he’s already naked. While buttoning his uniform, he starts to calculate the amount of time he’s saving and is just beginning to consider the merits of sleeping in the nude when Lance pipes up.

“Sounds like you’ve got a long hike ahead of you,” he says somewhat smugly, no doubt satisfied with the simplicity of his own assignment. “But don’t worry, good old Lancey-Lance will be here to keep you company.”

“Thanks Lance,” Shiro says dryly, lacing his boot with a sharp tug, “I really appreciate it.”

 “It’s no problem,” Lance says cheerfully. “We haven’t gotten to talk much since – er … for a while now.”

Shiro pauses as he swings his pack over his shoulder.

“Yeah I … I guess you’re right,” he admits.

Other than work related calls they haven’t really talked in … _ages_. Maybe he should fix that.

“So …” Shiro purses his lips, struggling to think of what to talk about to get the ball rolling, “What attracted you to the glamorous life of a fire-lookout?”

It’s a fair enough question. Given Lance’s chatty nature and flair for the dramatics, the isolated nature of the job doesn’t really mesh with his flamboyant personality.

There’s a significant pause. “What?”

“Well, I’ve heard it said that people come out here either to run away or forget,” Shiro says, remembering Keith’s words with a fondness not felt at the time of the statement. It’s funny how things change.

“ _Ooooooh_?”

Shiro grimaces at Lance’s tone, and he’s suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding.

“Lemme guess, girlfriend left you?”

“No.”

“Wife left you?”

“No.”

“Oh! Oh! – You were involved in a steamy workplace romance with a married co-worker but her husband just so happens to be a mob-boss and he’s got a hit on you, so you had to go into witness protection and the only way to keep you safe was to send you out here into the woods.”

“Have you ever considered donating your brain to science? Because I have no idea how you’re coming up with this shit.”

“Hey, I’m just saying if you wanna talk breakups – I’m your guy.”

“Experience?”

“Pfft! Are you kidding? They used to call me ‘ _lover-boy Lance’_ ,” he brags.

“Mmm I don’t quite believe you,” Shiro says, plodding down the winding trail to the cave. ~~~~

“No really, if I came out here to _‘run away’_ from anything it was the ladies.”

“Oh _really?_ ” Shiro says dryly as his slowly remembers why he doesn’t talk to Lance.

“Yep, I was beating them off with a stick – needed to get away for some _me_ time. I’m sure you know how it is.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Oh I do, I do.”

“Us men of the world have to stick together,” Lance continues.

“Yeah …” Shiro mumbles, stopping short of the gaping maw that is the cave entrance. “Hey, I’m at the cave, probably won’t be able to hear you once I'm inside. I’ll call you back when I’m clear.”

After clipping the radio to his belt, Shiro peers down the several foot drop into darkness. There’s a nervous swoop in the pit of his stomach and he takes a deep breath. This isn’t his first time in the cave, nor is it his first time alone. However, even with all his progress, he still feels anxious occasionally, something that Keith has assured him is completely normal.

Once his nerves settle he continues down the ledge, dropping to the floor with a grunt. He flicks on the flashlight, letting the beam guide his path as he winds through the tunnel. He’s nearing the end of the passageway when he stops at the gate that seals off the rest of the cave.

After peering through the metal grate, Shiro runs his fingers over the smooth surface surrounding the keyhole.

During one of their sessions, Keith had suggested breaking in and exploring – all for Shiro’s benefit of course. He’d said that it wouldn’t do Shiro any good if he only grew comfortable with this part of the cave. However, Shiro quickly vetoed the idea. Nothing was worth getting lost or worse, killed. Now that he’s actually interested in seeing how far he can go, he’ll have to see if Coran has a spare key lying around.

Once outside, he heads north, as per Allura’s instructions. Making his way up the trail, he spots one of the utility poles in the distance.

Soft dirt and thick brush soon make way for rockier terrain and sparser, dryer vegetation as the ground grows steeper with every step. Shiro’s legs ache in mild protest, still sore from the workout he gave them last night. But he can’t feel the slighted hint of regret and the memory leaves him feeling warm and flushed. 

Once Shiro reaches the pole, he looks it up and down. The high vantage point gives him clear view of the line zigzagging from post to post, over rolling hills as far as the eye can see. 

“Oh boy,” Shiro grimaces. 

It appears he’s going to be doing a lot of hiking.

With a sigh, he continues onward, taking in the rustic landscape. Some of the craggy peaks look like something out of the Lion King. He half expects a baboon to run out carrying a lion cub at any moment.

Shiro chuckles at the observation. He’ll have to mention it to Keith when he gets back. 

His amused smile falters.

Although the quiet is nice, he misses Keith’s voice and company, and finds himself wishing that Keith could have come with him.

The thought has Shiro shaking his head, features twisting into frown. He can survive a few days without Keith. Besides, Keith doesn’t seem the type to want a needy boyfriend.

Shiro freezes, eyes widening at his own train of thought.

_Wait … boyfriend?_

_Is that what we are?_

Shiro isn’t sure. All he knows are his own feelings. And he feels … happy. Content.

It’s definitely more than just physical attraction on Shiro’s part. And even with the new direction their relationship is taking, he can’t imagine things drastically changing. They’ll continue their friendly teasing. They’ll still talk about everything and nothing, the inane and the important. The only difference will be the way Shiro shows his affection. Now Keith will know just how much he means to Shiro, how treasured he is.

He wants to whisper sweet nothings and declarations of adoration into Keith’s ear. He wants to shower Keith in kisses till he giggles and squirms. He wants to map every dip and curve of till he knows Keith’s body by heart.

Shiro shakes his head, letting his thoughts rattle in his brain as his features harden. Not the time or the place. He can think about this later. Right now, he has a job to do.

Keeping the line in sight, Shiro navigates the rocky path, taking a slight detour when he spots a supply box. Inside, he finds another mystery novel. Frowning, he reads the description on the back of the torn dust-cover.

_The Depths._

_What appears to be a simple caving accident turns into something far more sinister as Slav uncovers a shocking secret that threatens to tear a budding romance apart._

 

He doesn’t really like the character Slav, finding his tendency to drone on and on irksome. But he’s already read all the books in his tower and with Keith away he’ll need something to occupy him.

As he tucks the book into his pack a small piece of paper slips from between the pages and flutters to the ground. He plucks the note from the dust, cocking an eyebrow at the contents.

 

**8/30**

**Hey C,**

**I’ve been looking for you all day. I figured you’d be out at the campsite helping the scouts or in the canyon with the grad students, but I guess not. Radio me when you get this ok? You’re beginning to make me worry.**

**– J**

 

With an intrigued hum, Shiro pockets the note and resumes his trek. His gaze continues to follow the line; stopping at the pole atop the formation he has dubbed _‘Pride Rock’_ , where the wire sways limply in the wind.

“Well, the wire is definitely down," Shiro dutifully reports. "It’s about, I dunno, a mile and a half north of my tower.”

“Good job! We’ll tell Allura when she gets back. You can come back now.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow at the line. There are no trees nearby, nothing that could have possibly put enough strain on the wire to take it down.  
   
“I think I’m gonna take a closer look. See what the damage is.”

“You do you.” 

He continues up to the pole and examines the wire with a frown, twisting it between his fingers.

“Lance … there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” he says slowly. 

“I don’t think the wind took it out. It looks like it was cut deliberately. Clipped clean through,” Shiro says, searching for any other signs of meddling. 

“What!? Who would have done that?” 

Before Shiro can respond, a glint of light catches his eye. A few yards away he spots the source of the light and his mouth twists into a scowl. 

“I have a pretty good idea,” he grumbles, eyes narrowing at a beer can wedged between some rocks. Red Lion brand.

“Who?” 

“Remember that camper from about a week ago? I think it was them.”

After crushing the can, Shiro dutifully slips it into his pack and scans the area, catching another glint several yards away. 

“Seriously? What makes you say that?” Lance asks while Shiro hops from rock to rock, making his way down to the dusty soil and the source of the flicker.

“Beer cans. Same kind the camper drank. I’ve found a few already,” Shiro scowls as he crushes the aluminum beneath his heel before slipping it into his pack.

“Why would they be up there though?”

“Dunno. Honestly, I’m surprised they’re still hanging around after –” Shiro bites his tongue before he can say anything stupid, “… after I told them off.”

“Do you think they did it as revenge?”

“Possibly …” Shiro says, gritting his teeth when yet another flash of light flickers in his periphery.

“That does it! Time to scare some respect into this asshole!” Lance growls.

“What would you suggest? Ghost costume made out of bedsheets?” Shiro says dryly.  
  
“I dunno … fuck up their camp or something.”

The suggestion has Shiro’s features twisting at memory of Keith’s outburst.

_Been there, done that._

“I don’t think Allura would approve.”

“Allura doesn’t have to know.”

Shiro’s stomach twists. He may not be particularly good at keeping Allura informed of _‘suspicious activity’_ but this is different.

“I don’t know about this.”

“It’s called taking initiative Shiro.”

Another glint of light directs his attention a few yards away and his anger flares. Narrowing his eyes, Shiro follows the trail of beer cans and quickly finds himself on a familiar path. The same path that led him to Akira’s backpack. He peers over the shale slide.

He isn’t sure if he should feel impressed or disappointed that the drunkard managed to make it down without breaking their neck. Though judging by the scuffing of dirt and gravel near the bottom, it appears their descent was not without incident. A petty rush of satisfaction sweeps through him.

There’s another can a few yards away from the bottom of the slide and it’s not long before Shiro stumbles upon the campsite.

“Found ‘em,” Shiro reports, eyes narrowing when they fall on the empty case of beer and cigarette butts littering the ground around the campfire. It’s an almost perfect replication of the previous camp.

“Is it the same guy from before?”

“Positive,” Shiro practically growls as he stalks up to the tent. “I’d recognize that tent anywOAH …” Shiro trails off as he circles the tent, eyes round as saucers.

“What? What is it?”  

“The tent … it’s half ripped to shreds.”   

From his new point of view, Shiro can see scattered clothes and broken equipment, though he isn’t sure if they were damaged during Keith’s overzealous vigilantism or this more recent attack. His fingers poke through the long slashes in the fabric. They’re surprisingly neat - sharp too. 

“What or …  _who_  … could have done this?” 

“It was probably just bears – or even bull elk off its rocker,” Lance offers halfheartedly. 

Shiro kicks at a torn sleeping-bag, brows furrowing. “Well, regardless of what or whoever did this, their camp was still attacked. Shouldn’t we tell someone or go looking for them?”  
  
“Listen Shiro, weird shit happens out here. It could have been other campers or a drunken rage, we really don’t know.” 

“Still …” Shiro looks over the carnage, gut twisting with worry.

“Look, they’re gone. That’s the main point. There’s no way to call the cops and they’re not coming back. So, let’s just let sleeping dogs lie and get back to work. Ok?”  
  
Shiro frowns.

“We should still report it.”

“ _Ugh_ , fine,” Lance sighs. “I’ll tell Allura when she gets back. Happy?”

“Not really.”

“Just … try not to over think it too much. This isn’t some Teddy Kruger sitch.” 

“… Do you mean _Freddy_ Kruger?”  

Who knew Keith’s knowledge of horror classics would come in handy.

“Whatever.”

 Shiro gives the campsite one last look before backing away, suddenly feeling a lot less safe. 

\--------------------

With a sharp snap, Shiro lets the freshly laundered sheet flutter over the mattress before tucking it in with military precision. Laundry had been his first task to complete once he’d returned to his tower, followed by his usual chores. But as he goes through his evening routine, worry remains a constant companion, a dull, anxious hum in the back of his mind.

He flicks off the light, pausing to stare at the doorknob. After a bit of deliberation Shiro locks it, giving the knob a few jiggles before turning back to bed. As he turns, he catches a flicker out of the corner of his eye. His head snaps to the window and he stares into the darkness. 

Several minutes pass. 

Nothing. 

Frowning, he returns to bed and slips beneath the clean sheets. He settles with a huff, trying not to think about bears or crazed campers tearing him limb from limb, sending blood and organs flying –

Shiro squeezes his eyes tightly. 

_No. Not helping._

Shiro takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. He forces himself to relax, imagining strong, lithe arms wrapping around his torso. He imagines warm, calloused fingers tracing abstract shapes against his skin. He imagines chapped lips pressed to his collarbone, pulling into a soft, contented smile.

As the last of the remaining tension leaves his body and sleep settles over him like a heavy blanket, he murmurs softly, fondly, “Keith.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith leaves for like five minutes and thing go to shit. Pity he missed out on the action.


	26. Day 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro gets an unexpected visitor.

The cold metal of Keith’s knife glints in the beam of Shiro’s flashlight. The blade hovers over the rope, the only thing keeping Shiro from plummeting to his death.

Staring up in horror, Shiro murmurs, “Keith … why?”

To anyone else Keith’s face would appear impassive. But Shiro knows better. To him, Keith’s expression displays disappointment. Whether it’s with himself or Shiro, no one will ever know.

“Sorry Shiro,” he says coolly as his knife digs into the rope, sending strands splaying outward.

Suddenly, the world blurs into slow motion. The snap of the rope echoes dully is Shiro’s ears as he reaches out for Keith one last time before descending into cold, inky blackness.

Lurching forward with a gasp, Shiro’s eyes snap open. The sudden movement causes the book on his chest to fall to the floor with a thud. Shiro twitches at the sound, eyes darting around the cabin as his heart hammers against his ribs.

 A dream. It was just a dream.

A relieved sigh whistles past Shiro’s lips. Leaning over the side of the bed, Shiro glares at the cause of his distress before plucking it off the floor. As he places the novel on his makeshift bedside table, he catches a shadow move in his periphery.

Ever so slowly, he turns, eyes widening as the figure circles his cabin. With his heart in his throat, Shiro sets the book down and reaches under his bed. He pulls out a souvenir of a recent hike –  a thick, sturdy walking-stick affectionately nicknamed Delilah.

He slowly slips off the bed just as the figure turns the knob. Upon finding it locked, the person jiggles it a bit and crouches down. While they’re distracted, Shiro seizes his opportunity. Quick as a flash, he twists the lock, yanks the door open and pulls his arm back to swing when under the glow of moonlight he sees –

“Keith?!”

The man smiles up at him, faltering only when he sees the staff in Shiro’s hand.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until tom–”

Keith’s lips collide with Shiro's, causing the man to stumble back a few steps, dropping his makeshift weapon as he clings to Keith for balance. Despite his initial shock, Shiro quickly recovers and melts into the kiss, cradling the back of Keith’s head.

Shiro is the first to break the kiss, gasping for air. “What –”

He is interrupted yet again when Keith whips a condom packet out of his pocket and wiggles it in front of Shiro’s face.

“I got my  _‘supplies’_ ,” Keith smirks, eyes lidded and dark.

Shiro’s eyes go wide as heat rises to his cheeks. “… oh …”  
  
Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck and kisses him deeply, licking hungrily at his mouth. Shiro doesn't need much persuading, eagerly parting his lip as he grabs the younger man’s thigh, lifting it up to his hip. Keith catches on quickly and breaks the kiss long enough to make a small hop, wrapping his long legs around Shiro’s waist.

While their mouths move against each other in a frenetic rhythm, Shiro shuffles backward to the bed. The back of his legs hit the frame and he lets himself fall back with a huff. They bounce briefly on the mattress and Keith’s lips relinquish Shiro’s when he giggles. Shiro uses the opportunity to bury his face into the crook of Keith’s neck where he leaves several quick pecks, inhaling deeply the scent of rosemary and sweat.

“Sorry,” Keith begins bashfully. “I should have bathed before –” his words are cut off by a gasp when Shiro licks a long, wet stripe up his neck, stopping to suck on skin above his thrumming pulse. “I was … yeah …” he trails off at the end but Shiro can read between the lines.

_Eager._

“Don’t apologize. Y’ smell good,” Shiro slurs, already drunk on Keith’s scent, his taste, his touch.

Keith snorts, but still tilts his head back and to the side, giving Shiro better access.

“It’s good to have you back,” Shiro murmurs, kissing the sensitive patch of skin under Keith’s ear.

“I was only gone for a few days,” Keith chuckles, somewhat breathlessly.

Shiro ducks his head, suddenly afraid of seeming clingy.

“I know …” he says, pressing a kiss to Keith’s exposed collarbone.

Suddenly, Keith drops his face to Shiro chest, starling the older man when he mumbles something incoherent.

“What?”

Reluctantly, Keith looks up through thick bangs. A warm blush bleeds across his features and he smiles shyly.

“It’s good to be back.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, but before he can respond, Keith’s lips are on his, kissing the shocked expression off his face. Keith’s tongue drags slowly, insistently along the seam of Shiro lips, demanding entrance. Eager to oblige, Shiro opens his mouth, tongue meeting Keith’s in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Just as Shiro's starting to get into it however, Keith pulls away, far too soon for Shiro's liking. He chases Keith’s kiss-swollen lips with a whine, eyes cracking open to see those same lips pulled up into a teasing smile as Keith leans back, exposing a sliver of skin between his shirt and pants, back arching like a bow.

With a roll of his shoulders, Keith’s backpack slides down his arms, hitting floor with a thud. He spreads his legs wider, bringing his ass flush with Shiro’s groin. Stifling a moan, Shiro grips Keith’s sides, thumb digging into the dip of his hip-bone.

“Touch me,” Keith says – or more accurately orders – with a moan.

Obediently, Shiro's hands slip under Keith’s shirt. They slide up slowly, revealing every inch of warm, supple skin with reverence. He’s nearly reached Keith’s chest when he freezes, belatedly realizing that he’s been touching Keith with his prosthetic as well. Before he can apologize or pull back, Keith catches him by the wrist.

“Touch me,” he repeats in a firm but by no means harsh tone.

Tentatively, Shiro’s hands return to Keith’s chest. The knuckles of his prosthetic delicately brush over the bumps of Keith’s ribs before grazing one of his nipples. A soft gasp slips past Keith’s lips and Shiro repeats the movement, stroking the bud with featherlight touches. Biting his lip, Keith’s eyes snap shut as he concentrates on the sensation. With his left hand, Shiro’s thumb drags over Keith’s other nipple, swirling and pinching until it’s hard and aching from the attention.

“Shiro,” Keith whines, grinding their crotches together as he paws at Shiro’s chest.

“Impatient?” Shiro chuckles, earning himself a glare, though its affect is somewhat diminished by the blush coloring Keith’s cheeks.

With a teasing grin, Shiro adds insult to injury by leaning forward to press a quick peck to Keith’s nose.

“So cute,” he hums.

Pouting, Keith gets to work on the buttons of Shiro’s uniform before pausing.

“Is this ok?” he asks.

With Shiro's nod of approval, Keith slips the buttons through each slit, slowly exposing the scarred expanse of Shiro torso. He kisses every injury along the way, sliding down Shiro’s body until he’s kneeling between thick, spread legs. The clinking of metal and rustling of fabric echoes in Shiro’s ears along with the pounding of his blood. He watches Keith work in reverent silence, committing every subtle movement to memory. Afraid to even blink.

Keith’s warm breath seeps through the fabric of Shiro’s boxers as he nuzzles his cheek into the crease of Shiro’s thigh, inhaling deeply. Shiro’s blush darkens. Now he understands Keith’s earlier embarrassment at not bathing beforehand. Still, Keith doesn’t seem to mind, and mouths at Shiro length. A desperate groan cracks in Shiro’s throat and his eyes flutter shut, dick twitching within the confines of his underwear. His left hand runs through Keith’s hair, fingers curling around the strands near his nape.

“Keith,” he whines.

With feigned innocence, Keith bats his long eyelashes as he looks up at Shiro. He grins.

“So cute,” Keith coos, pressing his lips to pressing his lips to the sensitive head.

“Touché,” Shiro mutters, causing Keith’s smile to widen.

Smirking, Keith sits back to remove Shiro’s boots and socks. While Shiro shrugs out of his uniform, Keith’s fingers dip beneath the hem of Shiro’s boxers and shorts, tugging them down in one swift motion.

“C’mere,” Shiro murmurs, low and husky.

Keith doesn’t have to be told twice and eagerly climbs into Shiro’s lap, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. With a pleased hum, Shiro’s hands slide up Keith sides. His fingers splay across the supple muscles of Keith’s back, rucking his shirt up to his armpits. It takes a moment for Keith to take the hint and he breaks apart just long enough to yank the shirt over his head.

Once freed of the offending article, Keith’s mouth is back on Shiro’s, alternating between suckling and tugging at Shiro’s lower lip. In the midst of these demanding kisses, Shiro fumbles with the button and zipper of Keith’s jeans, eager to move things along.

Getting the message, Keith shifts unto his knees. Even when he towers over Shiro, Keith never relinquishes his possessive hold over the other man’s lips which are beginning to tingle from all the attention. However, Shiro can’t bring himself to care, not when Keith is kissing him so desperately.

Shiro’s fingers briefly skim along Keith’s waistband before sliding beneath the fabric to cup the swell of his ass. Keith moans into Shiro’s mouth, grinding his clothed dick against Shiro’s chest. After taking a moment to knead at Keith’s ass appreciatively, Shiro yanks Keith’s jeans and briefs down to his knees.

With a disgruntled huff Keith slips off Shiro’s lap, kicking his legs in a fruitless attempt at removing his pants without taking his hands off Shiro’s shoulders.

“Oh for fuck’s …” Keith grumbles.

Shiro chuckles and pats the mattress. “Here.”

Pouting, Keith plops down next to him, lifting his hopelessly tangled legs into Shiro’s lap. After making quick work of Keith’s shoes and socks, Shiro moves onto his jeans and briefs, pulling them off in one swift tug. The pants barely hit the floor before Keith is on him again, kissing him feverishly. Shiro can’t help but smile into the kiss, amused by Keith’s candid desperation.

A selfish, possessive part of Shiro’s brain likes to think that no one else has seen Keith like this before. Eager and open. Displaying himself for Shiro and alone. The though sends a pleased shiver down his spine.

Slim, calloused fingers slide across his Shiro’s skin, stroking down his jaw, throat, shoulders and chest, like he’s mapping the expanse of Shiro’s body, committing it to memory. Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling them flush together. Both gasp at the sudden contact, hips instinctively jerking when their dicks grind against each other.

A string of saliva hangs between their lips, trembling as they pant. Already Keith looks wrecked – pupils blown wide with a dark flush spreading across his cheeks and down his chest. But Shiro doubts he looks any different. His lips feel bruised, still tingling with pleasure.

“What happened to the condom?” Shiro asks, briefly searching the rumpled sheets.

Sitting back, Keith looks around with a frown.

“We lost it,” Shiro chuckles.

Undeterred, Keith leans over the edge of the bed, giving Shiro an quite an eyeful. After rummaging through his pack, Keith pulls out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube, both of which he hands to Shiro.

Carefully tearing the packet open, Shiro slides the condom over his index finger before grabbing the lube. Meanwhile, Keith sprawls out beside him, doing his best to look as alluring as possible – and succeeding. Shiro’s eyes drift over the gentle curve of Keith’s chest, down and across the subtle swells and dips of toned muscle, and most notably, the hard, flushed cock resting against his thigh.

“Uh, I think you have enough,” Keith smirks, interrupting Shiro’s ogling.

Shiro looks down at his hand, which is now dripping with the slick fluid.

“Shit!” He hisses, hastily wiping the excess lube on the sheets.

Chuckling, Keith gets onto all fours, presenting himself without shame. Once again, Shiro can't help but stare, gaze lingering on the strong muscles of Keith’s thighs, the globes of his ass, the elegant arch of his back as he leans on his forearms, peering over his shoulder, eyes hooded and dark.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Keith teases, looking quite pleased with himself as his hips sway invitingly.

Shiro’s already flushed cheeks darken further, and he forces his attention back to the task at hand before Keith’s suggestion can fully sink it. Licking his lips, Shiro strokes the groove between Keith’s cheeks, resting his finger against the puckered hole. He rubs around the rim until it’s thoroughly slick and relaxed before applying some gentle pressure. The pad of his finger slips inside ever so slightly before he withdraws, causing Keith to let out soft whine of frustration.

Shiro repeats this process a few more times, circling and dipping until he feels Keith’s body pulling him in. As his finger sinks deeper he inhales sharply, unprepared for the way Keith’s muscles squeeze the intruding digit, tight and hot.

A pleasured sigh diverts his attention and his eyes flick up to Keith’s face. Or at least where Keith face _should_ be. Right now, it’s hidden from view, buried in Shiro’s pillow.

He wishes he could see Keith’s expression. As things stand, all he can really see is the expanding and contracting of Keith’s ribs as his breathing picks up, and the way his fingers twist in the sheets.

“How does it feel?”

“Mmmm good,” Keith says with a pleasured hum.

As if to emphasize his point, Keith rocks hips back, matching Shiro's gentle thrusts. Encouraged, Shiro begins to work him open in earnest. As he strokes the soft, silky walls, his finger brushes against a hard lump and Keith inhales sharply.

“Keith?”

“Another,” he demands somewhat breathlessly.

Naturally, Shiro obliges, pulling out just long enough to slip a second finger into the condom and apply more lube. Keith wines softly at the sudden loss, clenching around nothing. When Shiro slips back inside, Keith’s walls yield quicker, but Shiro still notices the subtle tensing of Keith’s shoulders.

Hoping to ease the tension, he starts dropping kisses up Keith’s back, starting at the base of his spine.

Along the way he coos, sweetly, “You’re doing so good … So good for me … My Keith … My sweet Keith … Such a good boy ...”

The soft gasp that escapes Keith's lips quickly turns into a whine as he relaxes under Shiro’s gentle ministrations, keening with every word of praise. As Shiro moves along, he settles over Keith, forcing the younger man to drop onto his chest. If Keith is bothered by the added weight he doesn’t show it. If anything, he’s enjoying it, bearing Shiro with a groan that is undoubtedly of pleasure – something Shiro tucks away for later.

With every trust, Keith grows more pliant, meeting Shiro’s hand with a subtle roll of his hips. It’s not long before Keith starts mumbling into the sheets, broken little sighs of _‘fuck’_ , _‘so good’_ , and general hums of pleasure. But there’s one word that stands out among the rest.

“Say that again,” Shiro says – demands.

Keith turns his face to the side, dark locks plastered to flushed cheeks.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Keith’s eyes snap shut when Shiro grazes his prostate and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, twisting the sheets between white-knuckled fingers.

Between ragged pants he whispers softly, reverently, “ _Takashi_.”

An unexpected groan is ripped from Shiro’s throat and he rubs Keith’s prostate as reward.

“My own mother doesn’t call me Takashi anymore,” he says offhandedly.

“Please don’t talk about your mother while we’re having sex,” Keith moans, rocking back to meet Shiro’s fingers.

A gusty chuckle slips past Shiro lips as he continues to work Keith open, slow and steady. But Keith is getting impatient and says as much.

“Takashi … hurry up,” he whines.

“Shhhh,” Shiro hushes him, pressing his lips to Keith’s shoulder. “I need to make sure you’re ready.”

“I got a good idea of how big you are the other night. I’m pretty sure I used enough fingers.”

Shiro’s brain practically short-circuits. 

_Fingers …_

_He fingered himself thinking about me._

Shiro’s dick twitches eagerly at the thought and he groans, dropping his face into the crook of the other man’s neck.

“Fuck … Keith …”

“Yes. Good plan,” Keith says between pants, “Fuck Keith.”

Shiro chuckles, sympathizing with Keith’s impatience. The tendons of his wrist are beginning to ache from over-use and his toes have turned into pins and needles, not to mention his dick, which is currently prodding at Keith’s thigh, smearing precome in its wake.

Yet despite all this, Shiro is determined to make their first time together as painless as possible, and continues to open Keith up thoroughly. By the time he gets three fingers inside, Keith is a panting, trembling mess. Excess lube dribbles down Keith’s perineum as Shiro plunges his fingers in and out. A thin sheen of sweat coats Keith’s skin, collecting along the valley of his spine.

Part of Shiro just wants to get Keith off like this, but it seems Keith has other plans.

“Stop!” He cries out and Shiro obeys, freezing in place.

“Are you hurt?” Shiro asks, voice laced with panic.

“No. I … I was about to come,” Keith pants.

“Oh … uh I guess I’ll …”

“Please,” Keith moans.

Quickly retracting his finger, Shiro peels off the condom, turning it inside out before tossing it in the general direction of the trash. He grabs Keith's shoulder and rolls him onto his back, capturing his lips in a fervent kiss.

“I am  _so_  glad – you broke into my tower – and pissed me off enough – to bust you – for climbing – that fence,” he manages between kisses.

“Well,” Keith chuckles breathlessly, “I’m so glad you stole–”

“ _Confiscated_ ,” Shiro reminds him, gently nipping at Keith’s jaw.

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’m so glad you  _confiscated_ my stereo and pissed  _me_  off enough to break into your tower.” 

Chuckling, Shiro pulls back with a fond smile, sating at Keith's flushed face and dark, hooded eyes.

“Do you want this off?” Keith murmurs, running a hand up and down Shiro’s right bicep, stroking his thumb along the edge of Shiro’s prosthetic where scarred flesh meets hard plastic. Shiro flinches instinctively, but quickly relaxes.

“Yeah, that would probably be best.”

Keith nods, eyes flicking from Shiro’s face to his arm.

“Can I …” he trails off, indicating at Shiro’s prosthetic.

“Uh yeah … I guess,” Shiro says, sitting back so Keith can to undo the straps.

As Keith works, Shiro has to bite back a chuckle at the sight of his face, which is pinched with concentration. He tackles the task with amusing seriousness, like it’s an honor. And in a way, it is. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come, to the depth of trust that has blossomed between them.

Once the limb is removed, Keith presses tender kisses over the angry red impressions left by the straps, beginning at Shiro’s left shoulder, moving slowly across his chest. When he reaches Shiro’s right shoulder he stops, peering up through thick bangs – a silent request for permission.

Smiling fondly, Shiro gives him a nod and Keith continues his gentle ministrations down Shiro’s bicep, pressing his lips to the mottled flesh around Shiro stump. While Shiro appreciates the attention, he can’t help the way his nose wrinkles at the foreign sensation. It’s dulled - strange. Not bad. Just strange. A good strange.

Other than doctors and nurses no one ever been so close to his arm – especially in such an intimate way. It makes him squirm with pleasure.

“Ticklish?” Keith asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Now you know there’s no right answer for that,” Shiro says, leaning away slightly as a preemptive measure.

Keith grabs Shiro’s wrist before he can get too far,

Grinning, Keith leans forward, fingers skitter across Shiro's ribs. As he grabs Keith's left wrist, Shiro lets out what can only be described as a squeal – a sound he didn’t know he could make. Keith's remaining hand continues to wander and Shiro flops onto his side, pinning Keith's arm to the mattress.

"That's cheating," Shiro breathlessly scolds a giggling Keith before catching his lips in a chaste kiss.

Keith playfully nips at Shiro's lips, scooting close enough for their erections to brush. Shiro inhales sharply, instinctively chasing the contact as he rocks forward. Something between a gasp and a moan slip past Keith's lips as he meets Shiro's hips. Shiro's eyes flutter open, staring into Keith's as they darken with arousal.

“Ready?” Shiro whispers, warm breath caressing Keith's lips.

Keith nods eagerly and extracts himself from Shiro's loosened grip. While Keith slides the pillow under his hips, Shiro retrieves a second condom and rolls it over his dick. Shiro bites his lip, coating his twitching cock with a generous amount of lube. He looks up just in time to catch Keith hungrily licking his lips, eyes slowly dragging across Shiro’s length. His attention feeds Shiro’s latent pride and he gives himself a few long, languid strokes just for show. Violet eyes flick up to meet steel gray, both dark with lust.

Without further fanfare, Shiro crawls over Keith, covering him with his larger frame. It sends a strange, possessive thrill through him. Especially when Keith presses his left hand to Shiro’s right shoulder. A hand that looks deceptively small when compared to Shiro’s bulk.

“For balance,” Keith says, and Shiro gives him an appreciative nod.

Testing Keith’s strength, Shiro settles against onto his forearm, watching the muscles of Keith’s arm as he supports him with ease. Like before, there’s something about the thought that Keith could easily fight him off, yet chooses not to, that pleases his possessive side. The thought hat he’s the only one who Keith would ever allow to get this close. This intimate.

With his left hand occupied, Keith’s right moves to cup Shiro’s left pec in blatantly possessive gesture. The corner of Shiro’s mouth curves up.

“Do you really like my chest that much?”

“I'm touching your heart,” Keith informs him.

“... My heart is in the _middle_ of my chest.”

Keith blinks and moves his hand. As Keith stares up at Shiro with mock innocence, his mischievous amusement fades into expression of something akin to awe and his gaze drifts to Shiro’s chest.

“It’s beating so fast,” he whispers.

“Only for you baby.”

Keith scoffs at the corny line, rolling his eyes.

It not a just a line though. In his whole life no one has ever managed to make Shiro’s heart beat quite like Keith has. No one ever made it ache in the same way. No one made him yearn. Just Keith. Only Keith.

“I love you.”

He says it with no fanfare. No grand, sweeping gesture. No flowery metaphors. Just a simple statement. A declaration. A cold-hard fact.

Shiro loves Keith.

That’s all there is to it.

Beneath him, Keith freezes, eyes growing suddenly wide.

“What?”

“I love you,” Shiro says, smiling gently.

Maybe he’s moving too fast. Maybe not. He doesn’t know. All he knows is how he feels. And what he feels for Keith in undoubtedly love.

The seconds tick by in slow motion as Keith’s brows screw together, features twisting while tears slip down ruddy cheeks. Shiro’s adoring expression suddenly morphs into concern and he cups Keith’s cheek.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

This breaks Keith’s from his almost trancelike state and he jolts, digging the heels of his palm into his eye.

“S-sorry, sorry,” he chokes, scrubbing his hand over his face.

“Keith?” Shiro leans back slightly, trying to give the younger man space.

“I’m sorry, I just … I haven’t heard anyone say that in a long, long time,” Keith says, smiling sadly.

“Oh Keith …” 

On the verge of tears himself, Shiro bends down to press gentle pecks to Keith’s forehead, the tip of his nose and wet cheeks. He brushes the dark locks of Keith’s tear stained cheeks, thumb tenderly stroking the flushed skin.

“You deserve to hear it every day.”

Keith sniffles, a shy smile reaching his lips. “I’d like that.”

Smiling, Shiro leans down and murmurs between gentle kisses, “I love you – I love you – I love you”

More tears slip down Keith’s cheeks at the gentle treatment and earnest declarations and he sucks in a shuddery breath.

“I love you too,” he whispers, breath hot on Shiro’s lips.

It’s Shiro who closes the miniscule space between them first, pressing their bodies flush together as their mouth move in tandem. Keith mirrors Shiro’s desperation by wrapping his arms around Shiro's wide back, fingers sinking into the thick muscles there, anchoring him. Like he’s afraid he’ll leave. Their cocks brush with the movement and Shiro stifles a moan into the other man’s mouth. Despite the sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, Shiro’s first priority is Keith’s well-being.

He pulls back just far enough to knock their foreheads together and whispers, “You good to keep going?”

Keith nods. “Yeah, I want this.”

“Me too,” Shiro murmurs, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead before leaning back to sit on his heels.

After guiding his cock to Keith’s entrance, he swirls the blunt head in lazy circles. Keith’s grip Shiro's shoulder's tightens, and Shiro’s eyes dart up.

“Ok?”

Lingering tears cling to Keith’s long lashes like tiny pearls while his kiss-swollen lower lip is held captive between his teeth. Keith lets out a breath, visibly forcing himself to relax.

“Ok.”

Slowly, gently, Shiro pushes in, eyes snapping shut when his dick is enveloped in overwhelming heat. His jaw falls slack the further he eases in. As he looms over Keith, he cracks an eye open to check on the younger man. A thin sheet of sweat coats Keith’s temple, brow furrowed in a combination of tension and, hopefully, pleasure.

Once Shiro is fully seated Keith breathlessly says, “Don’t move.” 

Shiro obeys and attempts to divert his attention from the irresistible tightness and heat surrounding his throbbing cock to his ragged breathing. For all his earlier bravado, Keith seems nervous now. His short, shuddery breaths ghost across Shiro’s skin as his damp forehead presses to Shiro’s shoulder and he trembles ever so slightly.

Carefully, so as not to jostle Keith too much, Shiro drops to his forearm, peppering the younger man’s face with kisses.

The featherlight press of lips across his oversensitive skin makes Keith burst into giggles, and Shiro can’t help joining in. Low chuckles rumble in Shiro’s chest when Keith returns the favor, peppering kisses along his cheek and jaw. It’s not long before their lips meet, turning quick pecks into languid, open-mouth kisses. When Keith pulls back, his shimmering violet eyes are half-lidded, dark with lust.

“I’m ready.”

For a moment, Shiro’s eyes dart across Keith’s face, gauging his sincerity. Once satisfied, Shiro pulls out slowly before sliding back in. Keith’s gaze drifts down to where they are joined, staring as Shiro’s dick disappears inside him. Meanwhile, Shiro keeps his eyes trained on Keith’s face, carefully checking for any signs of discomfort. To his amusement, he watches the subtle shifting of Keith’s expressions from surprise to awe, before settling on pure pleasure. Emboldened, Shiro picks up the pace.

With a sigh, Keith’s eyes flutter shut and his head lolls back, exposing the unblemished column of his throat - something Shiro is quick to remedy. Shiro’s mouth lowers to nip at Keith’s Adam’s apple, sliding higher to suck on the soft skin behind his ear, nosing aside dark curls.

A particularly hard suck has Keith moaning, wrapping his legs around Shiro and crossing his ankles to keep him close. Encouraged, Shiro varies his thrusts, alternating between hard and fast, and slow and deep.

“How does it feel?” Shiro asks, mouthing at salty skin.

Keith’s head rocks to the side, a pleased smile on his lips. “Mmmm. Good. Full.”

Pride swells in Shiro chest spurring him on. However, he's not content with simple gasps and moans. He wants Keith to be a drooling, writhing mess. Incoherent with pleasure. 

The mental image makes Shiro's dick pulse and his hips snap forward with purpose. This particularly rough thrust has Keith throwing his head back with a cry. His fingernails sink into Shiro’s skin, clawing at him for leverage.

“Fuck,” Shiro groans, features twisting with pain and pleasure.

“Sorry,” Keith says, breathlessly.

“Don’t I – I liked it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Keith slowly drags his nails down Shiro’s back, gentler than before, but no less pleasurable. The sensation causes Shiro’s steady trusts to falter, body shuddering.

“Kinky," Keith manages, breathing shallow and quick.

“Shuddup.”

Grinning, Keith pulls Shiro down for a kiss, scratching at the prickly hairs around his nape. Another full-body shudder ripples through him and he picks up the pace, driven by the instinctual urge to chase the pleasure pulsing through his veins.

The bed groans with every thrust and the very real possibility of the bed collapsing briefly occurs to him. However, such concerns are insignificant compared to the tight, wet heat encasing his cock, the desperate hands caressing his skin, and the pleasured gasps and moans filling the air.

Shiro pulls back just far enough to see Keith’s face. His eyes are screwed shut while his jaw falls slack, a perfect picture of overwhelming pleasure. Shiro’s appreciative gaze drifts lower, falling on Keith’s drooling cock that is creating a shallow pool of precome in the dip of his navel.

The sight has heat pooling low in Shiro’s belly, sinking lower, spreading, twisting into a tight coil that threatens to snap. Obscenities pour from Keith’s parted lips with every harsh slap of skin, toes curling, thighs trembling even as his heel dig into the taut muscle of Shiro’s backside, urging him on.

“Sh-Takashi I’m gonna –” Keith begins, only to be cut off by a sharp cry.

“Me too,” Shiro pants. “Touch yourself baby. Come for me.”

Keith doesn’t have to be told twice and his hand wraps around his dripping shaft. It only takes a few quick strokes before Keith comes with a choked off sob, painting his taut stomach with ribbons of white.

The combination of Keith’s euphoric expression and clenching hole sends Shiro over the edge and his dick pulses. His eyes snap shut at the intensity of his orgasm, jaw falling slack. He manages two more harsh thrusts before stilling, spilling into the condom with an extended groan.

Ragged pants fill the humid air as he slowly rocks against Keith, working through the final waves. The arms slung around Shiro’s neck pull him closer while long, trembling legs hold him in place. As his weight settles fully against Keith, Shiro struggles to properly covey his feelingsthough the post-orgasm haze clouding his mind.

A breathless, “Wow,” is all he can manage, and Keith responds with an infectious giggle.

Keith’s nose nudges Shiro’s cheek, coaxing him into a kiss. Their noses awkwardly knock together as they try to find the right position and another series of tired giggles tickle Shiro’s mouth, which is pulled into a sated grin. Their lips press together in a surprisingly chaste kiss as Keith’s hands stroke up and down Shiro’s back.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith whispers, lips gently grazing the older man’s.

“Hmm?”

“My wish came true.”

It takes a moment for Shiro to realize what he means, and his eyes widen. Once the initial shock wears off, Shiro expression melts into pure adoration as he captures Keith lips in an ardent kiss. He presses a few more quick pecks to Keith’s nose and forehead before carefully pulling out, wincing when Keith instinctively clenches around his oversensitive cock.

After tying off the condom and tossing it in the general vicinity of trash can, Shiro stands on wobbly legs to retrieve a wet washcloth to clean up with. When Shiro returns to Keith’s side, the younger man observes him appreciatively, eyes half-lidded and dark. If Keith hadn’t been hiking all day, Shiro might have suggested going another round. As things stand, Shiro is perfectly happy to pamper him and gets to work on wiping up the mess splattered across Keith’s stomach.

Once finished, Shiro is pulled down into a tender kiss and he eagerly settles against the firm line of Keith’s body. As he rests his head on Keith’s chest, long fingers find their way to the soft hairs around his nape, stroking gently. Sated and boneless, Shiro smiles dreamily, lulled by the beating of Keith’s heart.

“So fast,” Shiro murmurs, only half-conscious.

“Only for you,” Keith whispers, dropping a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head.

Smiling, Shiro presses his lips to the center of Keith’s chest before slipping into a deep, contented sleep.


	27. Day 64

Warm rays of sunlight settle over Shiro’s sleep heavy limbs, creeping steadily up to his face. His nose wrinkles. Rolling onto his side, Shiro buries his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply. There are hints of rosemary and sweat.

The scent conjures up images of ebony locks spread over ivory sheets like the delicate strokes of an artist’s brush. He smiles and smooths his hand across the sheets. Fingers reach out, searching for a warm body, only to find none.

With a slight pout he sits up and scans the room for any sign of Keith’s whereabouts. As he looks around, he spies a small note tucked under the radio charger. He plods over to the desk and slips the note free.

_Didn’t want to wake you. Gone fishing._

He smiles at the sight of Keith’s familiar scrawl and quickly dresses, eager to join him.  
  
When Shiro reaches the lake, he finds Keith sitting on one of the large rocks jutting into the water. With his black jeans safely rolled up to his knees, Keith’s feet swirl around in lazy circles, sending faint ripples dancing across the water’s surface.

Shiro takes a moment to stare at the other man, smiling at the familiar way Keith’s brows pinch together with concentration. Unaware of his admirer, Keith continues his work, long fingers untangling the twisted mess of fishing line.

Smirking, Shiro places his hands on hips and, in his most commanding voice, bellows, “Young man, do you know what the fine is for fishing without license is?”  
  
Keith turns, lips pulling up at the corners. “Fuck off!” he laughs.

“Sassing a Park Official!” Shiro lets out a low whistle, “Now  _that’s_  gonna cost you!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “It’s just one fish. I’m sick of protein bars and jerky, and I’ll bet you are too.”

Shiro can’t deny that.

“Anyway, I know a great recipe for fish,” he continues, “You’ll love it.”

“Ooooh, bribery now!”

 That earns a playful splash from Keith as Shiro just laughs.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” Shiro says and Keith pinches his forefinger and thumb into an ‘ok’ sign.

Shiro hops up the rocks and lies down beside Keith, pillowing his head with his hand. Luckily, he brought a book to fend off any boredom associated with the great art of fishing. He flips through the pages and finds where he’d left off last night.

Slav and his companion are currently lost in a labyrinthine network of caves after being trapped by one of the murder suspects. Despite Slav’s objections to the idea, Shiro is pretty sure he was just too close to the suspect to be objective, and allowed himself to be blinded by his feelings. A rookie mistake.

Shiro lets the book fall to his chest and closes his eyes, letting the gentle lapping of lake and hazy afternoon heat lull him to sleep. There’s a soft plop of a weight sinking into crystalline water, followed by the mechanical twirring of the reel. Letting his head fall to the side, Shiro watches Keith’s long fingers turn the spool. His gaze travels higher, up toned arms before stopping at Keith’s nape where unruly locks have been gathered into a short, messy ponytail. A bead of sweat slowly travels down Keith’s neck, disappearing beneath his collar.

Shiro licks his lips.

Before, he had to be content with his fantasies. To look and not touch. But now …

Tentatively, Shiro sits up and leans over to gently blow on Keith’s neck. Keith shivers slightly, but doesn’t waver from the task before him. Feeling brave, Shiro presses a wet kiss to Keith’s nape.

Keith gasps and his fingers twitch around the rod, but he makes no attempts to move. Emboldened, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s waist as he begins to suck and nibble at the younger man’s neck, nosing aside the errant hairs that escaped his ponytail. The salty tang of sweat lies heavy on his tongue. It’s intoxicating. 

As Keith squirms in his hold, Shiro nips at the sensitive skin behind his ear. The corners of Shiro’s lips twitch up at the barely repressed moan caught in Keith’s throat.

With a shuddery sigh, Keith turns to face him. “Shiro…”

Their noses are almost touching, breath mingling. Shiro closes his eyes and leans in, heart buzzing in his ears – wait … buzzing?

Beside him, Keith’s body suddenly jerks, ramrod straight and alert.

“Do you hear that?”

Shiro also pulls away as the buzzing increases in volume, brows pinching together as he looks around. “Yeah …”

From the south of the lake, a tiny dot rapidly approaches. Shiro squints.

“Is that … a _drone_?”

He watches slack-jawed as it flies overhead. Keith’s rod and tackle slip into the lake with a splash as he jumps to his feet, tearing after the small UAV.  
  
“Keith?! Come back! STOP!”  
  
Shiro scrambles to his feet, chasing after Keith as he races through the canyon. As usual, Shiro is no match for Keith in terms of speed. His only hope is that Keith will run out of stamina before he hurts himself.

He continues to call after the younger man, but Keith ignores him in his dogged pursuit. With his attention on the drone, Keith almost trips several times and Shiro winces with every near tumble.

Eventually the drone disappears from view, and the telltale hum is lost amid the whistling wind and harsh panting. But Shiro’s interest in not it the flying contraption, rather Keith, who slips through some brush.

With a sharp huff and pinched brows, Shiro follows, pushing through the prickly foliage. After a few feet, Shiro breaks through, nearly bumping into the other man. 

“What the hell Keith?” He snaps, irritation and concern bubbling over all at once. “You can’t just run off like that! You could get hurt! You don’t even have your shoes for god-sake what were you –”

When he realizes Keith isn’t listening he stops his rant mid-sentence and follows Keith’s gaze, eyes widening when they fall upon the remains of a destroyed campsite.

It looks unnervingly similar to the wrecked campsite from a few days ago. The only difference is the equipment. Along with the expected camping gear scattered over the ground are strange devises he’s never seen before. There’s a contraption that looks like a large salad bowl with something like a lightsaber poking out of the center. The only thing he recognizes is a laptop, which has been practically broken in half.

Cautiously, the pair approaches the tent, or at least what’s left of it. Just like the last one, it’s half shredded, and long strips of canvas flutter limply in the breeze. Keith stoops over and picks up a small plastic box with a long strap attached to it. He turns the gadget over in his hands, brow knitting while his lips press into a thin line. On the back is a name written in thick letters, a name that has Shiro inhaling sharply.

“It was the Holts,” he says, stomach sinking.

 He swiftly pats around his belt and unclips the radio.

“Allura, you there? I think I found the Holts – or at least their campsite.”

 “You … You what?”

“It’s been completely trashed. But … that doesn’t make sense,” Shiro continues, ignoring Allura’s shocked tone, “You said they left the park weeks ago.”

“Well … yes –”

“Are you telling me they didn’t mention _why_ they left or _anything_?” Shiro says incredulously, all while Keith watches him intently, silently, eyes narrowing.

“C’mon dude lay off,” Lance bristles.

“I’m not in charge of who goes in and out of the park,” Allura explains.

“Then how do you know they left?” Shiro persists.

There’s a pause.

“Coran told me,” she says tetchily. “It was pertinent information in regards to Katie Holt.”

“Wait, could it be _her_ camp you found?” Lance asks. 

Shiro looks around at all the equipment and gear with a frown. 

“I don’t think one person, let alone a little girl, could have dragged all this out here. No, it has to have been the other two.”

“Well … I’ll contact Coran and see if they mentioned anything but it was probably just bears,” Allura says with unnerving calm.  
  
“Is that your explanation for everything?” Shiro responds tersely.  
  
“Shiro –”  
  
“They wouldn’t just leave all their equipment out here like this! And even if it was just bears, wouldn’t they come back for their things after the fact?”  
  
“… It’s inadvisable to return to the scene of a bear attack,” Allura says icily, “They have a tendency to revisit an area if they have previously found food there. Which is why I am  _ordering_  you to leave.  _Now_.”

Allura’s tone is nothing short of frigid and Shiro involuntarily stiffens. 

“… Yes ma’am,” he says curtly, using the same tone he would for an instructor he resented – strained respect. 

Just as he’s clipping the radio to his belt a branch snaps, followed by some rustling. His head jerks in the direction of the sound and Allura’s words echo in his brain. He stares tensely into the thick foliage, ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice.

When no bears or masked murders come rampaging through the brush exhales a sigh of relief.

_Maybe Allura was right._

Anxiety and paranoia gnaw at his gut as he steps toward Keith who is still crouched and milling through the Holt’s belongings.

“I think we should go,” he says, voice low and tight as he tugs at Keith’s bicep.

Much to his surprise, Keith pulls away and shoots him a fierce glare.  
  
“No.”

Momentarily taken aback, Shiro’s eyes harden and he sets his jaw.

“ _Keith_.”

There’s a warning in his tone – one Keith completely ignores.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Shiro crouches down and scoops Keith up, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The younger man struggles in Shiro’s firm grip, pressing his hands against Shiro’s head and shoulder.

“Let go! Put me down! We have to –”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Shiro snaps, his irritation with Keith’s impulsiveness bubbling the surface again.

His sudden outburst makes Keith freeze and he slowly wilts in Shiro’s hold. After a long, tense silence Keith finally speaks up.

“You can put me down,” he mumbles into Shiro’s back, “I can walk.”

“No. You can’t,” Shiro says brusquely, “Your feet are cut to shit from running around barefoot. You’re not walking  _anywhere_.”

When they reach the clearing around Shiro’s tower, Keith musters one last attempt at wriggling free, making Shiro stumble as he nears the steps. Keith slips from Shiro’s grip and gives him a shove once he lands, grimacing as he takes a step back. Shiro reaches out to steady him but Keith pulls further away.

“I’m fine,” he insists, but walks gingerly up the steps, wincing all the way. 

Once inside, Keith drops into the chair with a huff. While Shiro crosses the room to retrieve the first aid kit, Keith takes a moment to examine his feet, hissing at the sight of them. From his toes to his knees, he’s covered in cuts and scrapes of various sized and depths. The worst ones are on his feet, contaminated with dirt and bits of grass. He experimentally flexes his toes, features pulling into a tight grimace. None of the cuts are deep enough to require stitches, but that doesn’t make them any less painful.

Shiro kneels beside him, first aid in tow. He dips a small towel into a bowl of water, gently wiping off the grime from Keith’s feet. Keith twitches, and grunts at Shiro’s ministrations.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs, his previous irritation having simmered down and replaced with concern.

After gently patting Keith’s feet dry, he uncaps a bottle of iodine and thoroughly soaks a cotton-ball.

“This’ll sting a bit,” he warns, and Keith nods, biting his lip in anticipation.

Keith inhales sharply as Shiro quickly swipes the cotton ball over the cuts. Next, Shiro dabs antiseptic ointment on each cut before covering them in bandages, making sure to leave a quick peck on each one.  The tender gesture softens Keith’s pinched features and he starts to relax.

With a sigh, Shiro rests his chin in Keith’s lap, rubbing circles into the dip of his knee with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Keith’s skin. "I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. I was just … worried.”

“What, you thought a bear was going to jump out of the bushes at any moment and tear me to shreds?” Keith says blandly.

 “… Maybe,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s knee. 

A gusty laugh slips past Keith’s upturned lips and he hums. “I’m not used to people apologizing to me. What do you usually say?”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitches. “Depends on how you feel. There’s _‘apology accepted’_ which means _‘I’ll remember this till I die’_ , then you have _‘no problem’_ a.k.a : _‘sleep with one eye open’_ and, finally, ‘ _fuck you_ ’.”

Keith chuckles at that. He runs his fingers through Shiro’s fringe, brushing the long hairs aside.

“What does ‘I forgive you’ mean?” He asks softly, tracing Shiro’s cheekbone with his thumb.  
  
“ _‘You were an ass but I’m willing to be the bigger man’_.” 

Keith chuckles again and bends down to press a kiss to Shiro’s temple. “I forgive you.” 

The scratches on Keith’s face and arms from where brush and brambles had caught him are not nearly as bad as the ones on his feet but Shiro, thorough as ever, gives each injury the proper attention. Although Keith is inclined to brush them off as no big deal, he decides to indulge Shiro’s tender side. 

Once Keith is satisfactorily patched up, Shiro steps back to assess his handiwork. Keith lifts his legs parallel to the floor, pointing and arching his toes with only mild discomfort. As Keith flexes, his eyes glaze over with an expression Shiro can’t place. However, he seems content enough with Shiro’s work, and lets his legs drop before looking up at the older man.

“Well, I should get going. I haven’t set up my camp and I’d like to do that before it gets dark.” 

“Oh … ok,” Shiro says with hint of disappointment. “But we need to go and get your shoes first. Can’t have you running around barefoot like a wildman again,” Shiro says teasingly, though his humorous tone does little to disguise the concern lacing his words.  
  
Keith nods in agreement, cringing when his feet touch the floor.   
  
Turning his back to Keith, Shiro crouches and peers over his shoulder. “Piggy-back?”  
  
A smirk tugs at Keith’s lips as he places his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and hops slightly to loop his legs around Shiro’s waist. “Anything would be preferable to before.”  
  
“Sorry about that,” Shiro mumbles, firmly gripping Keith’s thighs as they head out.  
  
Keith presses a kiss to Shiro temple and smiles. “‘S okay. I forgive you.”  
  
By the time they reach the lake the sun in already dipping behind the trees and golden rays stream through the patchy foliage, dappling the glassy surface with light.

Shiro gingerly sets Keith on the same large boulder he was sitting on earlier and hands him his shoes. Although Keith’s features pinch as he slips a bandaged foot inside, he seems to be in less pain than before, much to Shiro’s relief. While Keith dons his shoes, Shiro wades into the lake to retrieve the pole and tackle. He hisses, gritting his teeth as he braves the glacial water.

_The things I do for love._

He plucks the rod from the loamy lake bottom and gives it a hardy shake. After removing as much water as possible, he hands the pole back to Keith who collapses and tucks it into his bag as if on autopilot.

“Shame about the fish,” Shiro says. 

“Yeah …” Keith mumbles, his unfocused gaze falling to the general vicinity of his knees.

“But there’s always tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah …”

Keith’s bland response gives Shiro pause, but he doesn’t push it and plunges his arm back into the water. Sifting his fingers through the cloudy water, he eventually retrieves the slim tackle box. He pours the water out with a grimace before peeking inside.

“Looks like you lost some tackle,” he frowns, squinting at the murky water.

“Yeah …”

Now, Keith has always been more of the quiet type, but this is ridiculous.

“Keith? … You ok?”

“Yeah …”

Frowning, Shiro snaps his fingers. The sharp sound makes Keith jerk and he sits up straighter, blinking a few times

“Huh – What?”

“I just asked you if you were ok.” 

“What? Yeah I’m … I’m fine. Just a little tired.” 

He jerkily grabs the still dripping container and shoves it into his bag. 

The crease between Shiro’s brows deepens. “If that’s the case, why don’t I carry you back to your campsite? I can help you set it up.”

“No,” Keith says quickly. Too quickly. “I’m fine.” 

As Keith adjusts the bag on his shoulder, Shiro squirms. “You know … you don’t have to go set up your camp.” 

Keith arches an eyebrow, dusting the seat of his pants as he stands. “Uh, I kinda do? It’s a real pain in the ass to set up a tent in the dark. I know from experience.”

“No, I mean … you could always … stay with me?”  
  
Keith's eyes widen, like he's surprised by the suggestion. For a moment he seems to considers Shiro's offer before shaking his head. “That’s sweet but, you already see me nearly every day, any more and I’d be worried that you’d grow sick of me.”

Shiro smiles gently, and tries not to let disappointment color his words. “I wouldn’t get sick of you.”  
  
Keith seems to waver, but only for a moment.  He manages a soft, apologetic smile and leans forward, kissing the older man’s cheek.

“Goodnight Shiro.”

Keith quickly hops down from the boulder and disappears through the bushes, leaving only rustling foliage in his wake.

“… 'Night,” Shiro murmurs – to himself mostly.

A worried crease forms between his brows. Taking a deep breath, Shiro removes his hat, running his good hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. His skin feels like putty beneath his fingers and he groans.

“What a day.”

With a deep, bone-tired sigh, he turns his back to the lake, letting the crunch of rock and dry grass fill the silence surrounding him as he begins the short trek back to his tower.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh


	28. Day 65

The cache box emits a low creak as Shiro slowly opens the lid, his usual eagerness replaced with trepidation. It’s late afternoon and the sun is steadily inching westward. He’s a bit surprised that Keith, who is normally an early riser, hasn’t visited him by now.

Hopefully, he isn’t still mad at Shiro for his rough behavior yesterday.

Pulling a notepad from his breast pocket, Shiro jots down a quick message asking Keith to meet him by the lake that evening. After tearing out the page and tucking it safely inside, Shiro locks the box.

He raises his hand, shielding his eyes as he squints at the sun. There’s still plenty of time before he hopes to meet Keith. Perhaps he’ll wander a bit. And who knows, he might even find himself back at the Holt’s camp – totally by accident of course.

\--------------------

By a positively _amazing_ coincidence, Shiro’s meandering leads him straight to the Holt’s camp. Casually looking around, Shiro draws closer. He’s a few yards away when he sees rustling in the bushes surrounding the campsite.

Allura’s warnings flash through his mind along with images of a bloody uniform and morbid obituary cutouts. He quickly ducks behind some nearby undergrowth, heart hammering against his ribs. Cautiously, he peers between the branches, eyes widening when Keith’s head pops out from the brush.

_He must have had the same idea._

_But why not ask me to come along?_

Keith adjusts his heavy pack as it slips down his shoulder, eyes darting around warily. Satisfied that he is alone, he darts off down the path.

For reasons even Shiro can’t explain, he remains hidden while Keith trots past, holding his breath. Once Keith is a safe distance away, Shiro abandons his hiding place. He spares the brush Keith emerged from a glance before following.

With a mischievous grin, Shiro carefully creeps up behind Keith and claps his hands over the other man’s eyes. Before he can say _‘yoo-hoo’_ a sharp elbow is jabbed into his sternum, accompanied by a rather impressive Kiai. 

Everything blurs as Keith reaches back and grabs Shiro’s arm, rolling the older man over his shoulder with ease _._

Time slows down momentarily and Shiro only has enough time to think, _‘shit’,_ before colliding with the hard, dusty ground. His eyes instinctively slam shut upon impact and his teeth rattle despite clenching his jaw. An undignified wheeze slips past his lips as he stares up at a knife that gleams dangerously in the sun.

“Shiro?” Keith blinks before quickly sheathing his knife, scrambling to pull Shiro to his feet. “Sorry! I thought you were –” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I mean – Are you ok?”

“No problem,” Shiro rasps, mouth quirking up at the corner, “I should have known better.”

As Shiro dusts himself off, Keith watches him with concern.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” Shiro says, giving the seat of his shorts a few quick pats, “What have you been up to?”

Keith’s eyes dart up to meet Shiro’s, subtly widening as he stammers, “Oh, uh - you know just … walking around.”

Shiro stops his dusting mid swipe. “Just … _walking_.”

Keith nods.

It’s odd that Keith didn’t mention going to Holt’s camp. But Shiro quickly assumes he just didn’t want to get scolded for being somewhere he shouldn’t. He’ll have to make a peace offering.

“Well, since _you’re_ ‘just walking’ and _I’m_ ‘just walking’, what do you say we ‘just walk’ together?”

Keith’s pinched features soften slightly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As they ‘just walk’, the normally comfortable quiet between them crackles with tension. Shiro can practically taste it in the air. Like ozone before a thunderstorm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro regards Keith whose gaze is turned downward, arms crossed tightly over his chest.  
  
“Keith?”  
  
The man's shoulders jump and he turns. “Huh? What?”  
  
“You ok? It’s strange to see you all tense like this, usually I’m the one falling to pieces,” Shiro jokes, though his teasing tone laced with worry.

“Sorry. I’m just …”Keith exhales sharply and kicks a pebble.

“Still mad at me?” Shiro supplies, brows carving a crease into the middle of his forehead.

Keith turns to Shiro with an arched eyebrow, like the though never occurred to him.

“What? No it’s … it’s not that …” Keith trails off, gaze returning to the dusty ground.

Relieved, but still concerned, Shiro presses further.

“Are you still worried about what happened to the Holt’s?” He asks, cocking his head as he tries to catch the younger man’s eyes.

There’s a lengthy pause before Keith nods and rubs at his arms.

“You know my rooming offer still stands right?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, but shows no indication of interest in the idea.  
  
His dour response has Shiro’s features twisting in contemplation before slowly lighting up with a smile.  
  
“Let’s do something fun – to take your mind off it.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Fun? Like what?”

_"Well_ … yesterday I couldn’t help but notice some _‘supplies’_ in your pack that looked suspiciously like the ingredients for a certain camping dessert,” Shiro says, giving Keith’s shoulder a playful nudge.

Keith lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile and he bumps Shiro back. As the pair exchanges playful jabs, their knuckles brush, and the brief contact sends sparks along Shiro’s skin. Subtle warmth crawls up from his chest, spreading across his cheeks. Tentatively, he taps their hands together a few more times before hooking a finger around one of Keith’s.

Considering everything they’ve already done, holding hands shouldn’t even make him bat an eye. This is kid stuff. And yet, he can’t help but feel rush of elation once their fingers intertwine. He meets Keith’s gaze, cheeks slightly pink as Keith knocks their shoulders together with a knowing smile.

\--------------------

Amber light skips across the surface of the lake, tripping over ripples and waves. But the tranquil beauty is ignored by Shiro as he fiddles with his mini propane stove.

 “Is it working?” Keith asks, peeking over Shiro’s shoulder.

“ _Yeee –_ ep,” Shiro says, leaning back to observe the quivering blue flames with a satisfied smile.

It’s no roaring bonfire, but given the circumstances, it’ll do.

Rustling plastic permeates the air as Keith eagerly shoves his hand into the bag of marshmallows.

“Did you make s’mores a lot as kid – when you went camping?” Shiro asks, settling onto the ground with a soft grunt.

Keith hums an affirmation as he pierces one of the soft cubes with a stick and hands it to Shiro. “We used to add all kinds of stuff to ‘em too. Peanut butter, caramel, Nutella, bacon –”

“Bacon?”

“Yeah, for that salty sweet flavor,” Keith says, before repeating the marshmallow stabbing process with his own stick.

Methodical as ever, Shiro spins his stick in slow rotations while Kith hold his stubbornly in place. Shiro watches in horror as Keith’s marshmallow turns from a pure, creamy white to a cracked black. His features twist with disgust.

“Now that’s just a waste,” he mutters as Keith blows on the flickering flames dancing over the sugary atrocity.

As Keith sandwiches the insult to sugar between two crackers, Shiro voices some _concern_.

“You’re not really gonna eat that are you?”

Arching an eyebrow at the perceived challenge, Keith crams the charred marshmallow into his mouth. _Whole_. Shiro mock gags, causing a few crumbs to spew past Keith’s lips as he chokes on an aborted laugh.

“Are you trying to tell me that that blackened monstrosity is better than this masterpiece?” Shiro scoffs, gesturing at his half browned marshmallow for emphasis.

“Oh sure, it looks nice on the outside,” Keith argues, “But the inside isn’t even done!”

Shiro purses his lips, eyes narrowing in thought. “It sounds like there’s a metaphor in there, but I’m struggling to figure out what.”

“You need to burn people into a charred husk before you can get to their gooey centers?” Keith offers.

Shiro’s features twist. “… Needs work.”

While Shiro continues his methodical spinning, Keith reaches into the bag to prepare his next s’more.

“Hey Keith …”  
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Keith looks up to see Shiro leaning back, mouth wide open. Keith gets the message and, with a wry smile, tosses a marshmallow at him. The sugary treat bounces off Shiro’s cheek and his teeth clack shut in a vain attempt to catch it. It hits the ground almost soundlessly, save for the soft rustle of grass.  
  
“Five second rule,” Keith calls out, chuckling at Shiro whose face pulls into a disgusted grimace.

“Yeah no.”

“Weak.”

“Hey, any animal could have peed _right there_!” Shiro argues.

Keith smirks. “Well, here’s one you won’t miss.”

Leaning over, Keith pops a marshmallow directly into Shiro’s open mouth. Shiro holds it between his teeth, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Keith rolls his eyes but concedes, biting into the protruding half. Mustering all the charm he possesses, Shiro very smoothly catches Keith’s lips in a kiss. He can feel Keith smiling into the kiss and follows it with a few more.

“Hey – mister – sm’mores –expert _..._ ” Keith whispers between soft pecks.

“Hmmm?”

“Your marshmallow’s on fire.”

Shiro’s head snaps in direction of the aforementioned marshmallow and it is indeed, on fire. Acting quickly, Shiro brings the flaming cube to his lips, blowing furiously. Once the flame is suppressed, Shiro regards the blackened atrocity with a sullen pout. Without saying a word, he waves it listlessly in front of Keith.

“More for me,” Keith grins, smashing the gooey treat between two crackers and sliding it off the stick.

Melted sugar bursts through the blackened crust, oozing down Keith’s fingers. Shiro watches Keith intently as his thumb slips between pink lips, emerging shiny and wet.

A familiar coil of desire tightens low in Shiro's belly at the sight. He inches closer, winding his right arm around Keith’s waist when their hips meet. Keith looks at him innocently, sucking on another sticky digit.  
  
Shiro tugs at Keith’s wrist till his finger pops free. Keeping his eyes fixed on Keith’s, Shiro drags his tongue up the digit, pausing when Keith’s breathing hitches. A heady flush spreads across Keith’s features and his eyes go dark, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

Emboldened, Shiro takes the tip into his mouth, slowly lowering. Keith’s fingers twitch against Shiro’s cheek, thumb stroking his chin. Shiro savors the combination of sugar and salt, bobbing up and down a few times just for show before pulling off with a wet pop. A breathy sigh slips past Keith’s pink, bite-swollen lips.

With Keith’s hand still clasped in his, Shiro leans forward and captures the other man’s parted lips. As they deepen the kiss, his tongue drags against Keith’s, tasting remnants of chocolate and sugar. Releasing Keith’s hand, Shiro cups the back of his neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Beneath his fingers, Shiro can feel lingering tension in the taut muscles of Keith’s neck and jaw as their mouths move against each other. It seems that, despite Shiro’s efforts, Keith is still upset about something. Nervous energy practically buzzes beneath Keith’s skin even as Shiro does his best to pacify him. Shiro breaks the kiss, nosing at Keith’s cheek before pulling him to his chest as he settles back.

There’s no need to push him.

Once again, silence settles over them like a dark, foreboding cloud. Nuzzling into Keith’s silky locks, Shiro rubs soothing circles into the other man’s shoulder, trying to ease some of the tension in his muscles. A few yards away, the water beats a gentle rhythm into the shore, accompanied by the soft trilling of birds and a breeze that whispers through the leaves.

Keith sighs, slowly relaxing under Shiro’s ministrations. A finger swirls around the dip in Shiro's uniform button, picking absentmindedly at stray thread. Now that Keith is calm, Shiro debates whether or not he should ask him what he was doing at the Holt’s camp.

However, he doesn’t get a chance as Keith speaks up, mumbling into Shiro’s chest. “So … did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

Shiro cringes. He was afraid that Keith would ask something like that. As the silence between them stretches, Keith grows antsy, face pulling into a frown as he sits up.

“What? What happened?”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. He could just lie. One of those tiny white lies that don’t really matter. It would be to protect Keith, not to hurt him. Surely he’d understand that.

Shiro’s eyes catch Keith’s, whose brows are drawn low over his dark, severe eyes.

No. Keith’s trust in him is too important to betray.

With a sigh, he says, “On the day you left … the phone line went down. I went to check it out and … it was cut – _deliberately_.”

Keith’s eyes widen as Shiro continues. “And remember that guy whose campsite we fucked up?”

“… Yeah?” Keith says slowly, cautiously.

“Well, I found him again – his campsite I mean. It was torn apart, just like the Holt’s.”

Keith sits back, away from Shiro. “Do you have any idea who– _what_ destroyed the camp?”

“Lance said it could have been bears – or even elk.”

Even as he repeats Lance’s platitudes, his brow furrow as a niggling thought prods at the back of his mind. A thought he’s been avoiding since it first occurred to him.

“Although … a person could have done it,” he says against his better judgment, recalling the neat slashes along the side of both tents – sharper than one would expect of claws or antlers.

Keith’s eyes widen. “You don’t really think there’s some psycho out here offing random campers … do you?”

Shiro ducks his head sheepishly. “No. No you’re right, that’s … silly.”

His eyes dart back to Keith who is now staring at the trembling blue flames of the stove, eyes glazing over as he retreats to his inner mind – a place Shiro can’t reach.

Shiro rubs back of his neck, feeling suddenly guilty of his suspicions. Of course Keith doesn’t want to hear about some maniac running around attacking campers. It’s bad enough having to worry about bears.

With a reassuring smile, Shiro throws his arm over Keith’s shoulders, tugging him closer. “Look, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Keith hums an obligatory acknowledgement of Shiro’s words but remains detached.

“Oh! Some firemen came out while you were gone,” Shiro says, desperate to distract the younger man. “They were burning fire lines out to the east. Normally they wouldn’t do it so close to a body of water, but I guess they’re extra worried about a fire jumping the river and burning up to my tower. I got to meet a few of them. They were pretty nice ... friendly ...”

But Keith has long since stopped listening, staring across the lake with an unreadable expression. Shiro watched with concern as Keith’s teeth worry at lower lip, sinking into the tender flesh. A bead of blood bubbles to the surface. Keith’s tongue slowly drags across his lip, collecting the drop with the tip before retreating back inside his mouth.

Normally Shiro would find the quirk endearing, but now, it’s just troubling.

He tears his gaze away from Keith and looks out over the lake. The glittering ripples, which would normally be a thing of beauty, fill him with a strange sense of foreboding as the dancing lights remind him of sunlight reflecting off sharpened metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Keith has a very reasonable explanation ... probably.


	29. Day 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ Strange things are happenin' to ~~me~~ Shiro ♫

It’s hot. Ungodly hot. The kind of hot that melts road signs and clocks.

Normally, Shiro would just go to the lake, but that would require moving his body. Besides, it wouldn’t be any fun without Keith who has, once again, decided to make himself scarce.

No, Shiro will just have to lie on his bed, motionless, till the worst of the heat has passed. Perhaps he can track down Keith and convince him to go swimming later. Who knows, maybe he’ll give skinning dipping a shot.

Shiro smiles at that thought.

However, his plans of immobility are short lived as Lance’s voice emits from the radio.

“Hey uh, Shiro? I’ve got some … news,” he says warily.

Shiro rocks his head side-to-side, causing the book over his face to slide down just enough for him to shoot withering glare at the radio. He briefly entertains the idea of ignoring Lance’s call, only for Lance to eliminate that option.

“It’s not necessarily _bad_ news,” he continues, undeterred by Shiro’s silence, “– I mean, depending on your point of view it could be bad. But I like to think of myself as a glass-half-full kinda guy you know?”

Once Shiro realizes that Lance isn’t likely to shut up any time soon, he reluctantly moves. With a melodramatic sigh, he drags himself across the room. Leaning against the desk with his hip, he plucks the radio from its cradle.

“What, did your binoculars crack?” Shiro grumbles, tugging at his collar.

Despite barely moving an inch since he awoke, a portion of his uniform is already damp between the shoulder blades. He squirms, features pulling into a grimace.

 “What? No, some guy, Trevor Devall, was reported missing. He’s got family out in Cali who haven’t heard from him in week. He was supposed to meet friends in town but he never showed up. If it’s the same guy whose tent you found, then … you’re the last person to see him.”

Shiro straightens, his heat hazy daze suddenly dissipating. “Do I have to go talk to the cops or something?”

“Look it’s not gonna be an issue … unless he turns up dead or something,” Lance says slowly, nervously. “Should I just not say anything and save us the trouble?”

Shiro sighs, dragging his forearm across his dewy brow. “Well, what does Allura say?

There’s a long pause. Too long.

“Lance … you did tell Allura about that destroyed campsite I found, didn’t you?”

“I – uh …”

The desk squeaks as Shiro pushes away from it with a start, eyes wide. “Lance!”

“I didn’t think it was that big a deal!” He says defensively. “Besides, Allura doesn’t like calling people out here unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“That’s … _really_ irresponsible,” Shiro frowns, surprised that Allura would feel that way.

“Well … what should we do?”

Shiro scrubs his hand up and down his face. “We should tell Allura what we found,” he sighs.

_This is a nightmare._

“Yeah ok.  I’ll tell her when she gets back.”

Shiro blinks.

“Gets back? Back from where?”

“Dunno. She’s just been going quiet a lot lately.”

Shiro frowns.

_That’s odd._

 Normally Allura makes herself available day or night. It got to the point that Shiro wondered if she actually slept at all.

“Until then, maybe we should work on our story,” Lance says.

Shiro arches an eyebrow. “Our _what_?”

“You know, our story – what we’re gonna tell the cops if we get questioned.”

Shiro massages his forehead. A dull pressure beats against his temples – the beginnings of a headache. He doesn’t know if it’s from the heat or from dealing with Lance but either way, he needs to lie back down.

“Lance, just … tell them the truth and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah I know, I know, it’s just … you know how they are! They do that whole good cop bad cop routine and suddenly you’re confessing to that Cracker Barrel arson even though it was _totally_ Jeremy’s fault!”

Shiro sinks into his chair with a groan. “If I go over our _‘story’_ with you will you leave me to nap in peace?”

“Yes.”

“… Fine.”

“Cool!” Lance says, sounding far too enthusiastic for Shiro’s taste. “Oh! Before we get started can you hold on a sec?” 

_Do I have a choice?_

Shiro sighs. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Propping his chin in his palm, Shiro’s eyes flutter shut as he waits for Lance, only to hear his voice again.

“Hey … I don’t think so. Why have you? … Ok. Good. … No. He has no idea.”  
  
As Lance continues his seemingly one-sided conversation the crease between Shiro’s brows deepens.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure… Alright. I’ll keep you updated. … Sorry ‘bout that. So, do you want to go first or should I?” Lance asks, addressing Shiro once again.  
  
“Who was that?”

“Who was who?”

Shiro bristles. “Uh, _‘he has no idea’_? Were you talking about me?”

“What?”

“I could overhear you talking to someone. You had your button pressed down or something.”

“I … That was work. I was just …. why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not,” Shiro says defensively.

“Good.”

There’s a moment of tense silence before Lance speaks up.  
  
“Let’s forget about our story. You can go back to your nap or whatever and I’m ... I’m gonna go quiet for a while. Call me if it’s important.”

With furrowed brows, Shiro places the radio back into its charger and drops into his chair. He curls forward, elbow to knee, chin to fist. Maybe he’s been reading too many mystery novels, but Lance seemed awfully defensive. He was also very quick to end their conversation despite having been so eager to continue it moments earlier.

Who was he talking to? And why wouldn't he tell SHiro if it was just work-related like he said?

A sharp knock jolt’s him from his thoughts and he turns to see Keith standing in doorway, an easy smile on his lips.

“ _‘The Thinker’_. Nice. Stick with the classics”

“Huh?” Shiro blinks before looking down at his hunched posture. “Oh, right.”

Keith leans against the desk with his hip, arms crossing over his chest as he cocks an eyebrow.

“What’s up? Writer’s Block?”

Shiro leans back in his chair, momentarily debating whether or not he should divulge this new information.

“I just had a weird conversation with Lance …”

“What else is new?” Keith scoffs.

“No, I mean … weirder than normal.”

Keith frowns. “Ok … what kind of weird?”

“It sounded like he was talking to someone – on the radio.”

“Allura?”

“Maybe,” Shiro frowns. “But he was saying stuff like _‘he has no idea’_ and I … I dunno I guess I got a little paranoid.”

While Shiro rubs the back of his neck, feeling somewhat foolish at his suspicions, Keith’s brows furrow.

“There’s something else …” Shiro reluctantly continues.

Keith’s eyes narrow. "What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about? The one’s whose camp was torn up?

“… Yeah?”

“Well, a man – Trevor Devall, was reported missing. Lance thinks it could be the same guy.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Is anyone is going to come out looking for him?”

“I don’t think so. Lance didn’t tell Allura about the camp being destroyed,” Shiro says. “And even if he did, it sounds like Allura wouldn’t do anything, not right away at least.”

Now that really gets Keith’s attention.

“So … no one knows … and no one’s doing anything about it …”

“That’s the gist of it,” Shiro huffs, wiping his brow.

He just wants to forget about the whole thing and stop feeling so paranoid. His thoughts drift back to his earlier plans.

“So … I was thinking, since it’s so hot, maybe we could go to the lake. I promise I won’t ruin your tan this time,” he says suggestively, nudging Keith with his elbow.

Keith jolts at the touch and turns to Shiro with wide eyes. “Huh? Oh uh … actually I gotta … do a thing. I forgot to do it earlier and … yeah.” Gesturing vaguely, Keith starts walking backwards. “So I’m just gonna … do that.”

With an apologetic look in his eyes, Keith quickly scuttles down the creaky stairs, leaving a rather perplexed and disappointed Shiro behind.

\--------------------

Just when Shiro thought the only threat to his sleep was stifling heat and the occasional nightmare, his old nemesis returns.

_The woodpecker._

He stares at the ceiling, grinding his teeth. The repetitive, hollow knocking reminds him of a slowly dripping faucet. Only worse. Just when you think it’s stopped it returns.

 

_Knock._

 

_Knock._

 

_Knock._

 

Rolling onto his side, Shiro folds the pillow over his ear with a huff. The worst part about being awake is that he now has time to think about everyone’s weird behavior lately - starting with Allura.

She was always so invested everyone’s safety – not just the visitor’s, but also those under her supervision. And yet, when actual attacks start happening she just blows it off? It makes no sense.

Then there’s Lance.  What was with that strange conversation?  Why not just tell Shiro what he was talking about – _who_ he was talking about?

But the most worrisome behavior lately is that of Keith. It’s not his imagination right? Keith has definitely been avoiding him.

But why? Was it something Shiro did? Keith insisted he wasn’t mad at him. So it’s not that. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

The valley between Shiro’s brows deepens.

Keith’s been awfully preoccupied lately, zoning out. Is he worried about getting attacked like the other campers? But if that was the case, why not take Shiro up on his offer to stay in the tower?

Although … he seemed less interested in the whereabouts of the missing campers and more concerned with whether or not anyone was coming out to look for them.

Does Keith know something? Something he’s not telling Shiro?

His thoughts drift back to the slashes in the tents. Long and even, with sharp, clean edges. Memories of Keith’s blade, flickering in the low light, flash through his thoughts unbidden. He certainly knows how to wield it, not even hesitating to press it to Shiro’s throat just the other day.

_Could … could he –_

Before Shiro can finish that traitorous thought he shakes his head, as if to dislodge it from his brain.

There’s no way Keith would do that. Sure he got a little hot under the collar when it came to that guy’s poor campfire etiquette, but he was just upset about his dad. And, _yeah_ , he admitted to scaring off those girls – or _‘took care of’_ to be more accurate. Whatever _that_ means.

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut tightly. He doesn’t like the direction his thoughts are leading and he buries his face into the mattress, willing them to dissipate. It does little good, and he remains stuck with his paranoid thoughts until a restless sleep finally envelopes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to Mr. Devall, but I hate making up character names. I’m sure he’s a very nice man.


	30. Day 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your listening displeasure:  
> Black Sabbath – Paranoid  
> Elvis – Suspicious minds
> 
> TW: The first two paragraphs are a bit gory, but not too graphic (to me at least).

Keith’s knife slides through pale flesh like butter. Ruby blood bubbles to the surface, slipping slowly down the sides. He expertly drags the blade up to his victim’s neck, keeping the pressure light enough to avoid puncturing the delicate organs. After spreading the body open, he gingerly removes the entrails, a task he seems to relish.  He pours water over the now empty cavity, washing it with gentleness contrasting his previous barbarity.

However, his gentleness is short lived as he moves onto the next task: removing the head. He struggles slightly; metal scraping against bone while a vacant, glossy eye stares at him impassively. He twists and yanks at the head till it pops free with a sickening snap that Keith regards with a satisfied hum before holding it up to a wide-eyed Shiro.

“And that’s how you clean a fish,” Keith says, smiling at Shiro who is peeking over his shoulder with fascination.

Shiro hums and nods.

“Seriously though I can’t believe your dad never took you fishing,” Keith says, gathering the undesirables and plopping them into bowl to be properly disposed later.

“He _did_ – well he _tried_ to at least. He once took me and Ryou camping -"

"When you were 11," Keith supplies with a grin.

Shiro chuckles. "Yes, somewhere around that age. Ryou did ok, but I bawled when he tried to show us how to gut ‘em.”

“Why? Just didn’t like the sight of blood?”

“I thought we were catching them as _pets_.”

Keith throws his head back and laughs.

“Hey! The only other fish I’d ever caught was a goldfish at a festival,” Shiro huffs. “His name was Goldie.”

“Awww,” Keith coos as best he can between chuckles. “Whatever became of Goldie?”

“Apparently he got too big for his bowl and dad released him into the ocean.”

Keith’s giggles come to a halt, eyes widening. “Shiro … that’s not how it works.”

Shiro blinks. “Huh?”

“I … I think your fish died. Your dad just made that story up.”

 Shiro’s brows furrow, recalling the sight of Goldie floating listlessly on the surface of the water. “I guess that means he wasn’t taking a nap.”

Keith bites his lip, less out of sympathy and more to prevent them from pulling into an amused grin.

“Keith, you’ve crushed my dreams of my whale-sized goldfish, swimming freely in the open sea. I’m shattered.”

He leans against the upper cupboards, melodramatically tucking his face into the crook of his elbow with a mock sob.

Keith rolls his eyes. “I guess you’re too upset to help me finish preparing this fish then?”

“Devastated” Shiro mumbles.

“And I suppose you’re also too _devastated_ to eat it?” Keith teases with a smirk.

“Not that devastated,” Shiro says, quickly dropping out of his morose posture.

After de-boning and slicing the fish into reasonably sized pieces, Keith hands Shiro a baggy of what looks like flour.  
  
“Drop the fish into this and shake ‘em till they’re covered, I’ll make up the batter.”

Shiro does as he’s told; watching Keith as he pulls the other ingredients out of his bag. Keith places gallon bag with few cups of what Shiro assumes is flour and seasonings onto the counter. While Keith rummages, Shiro dutifully completes his task, only letting his attention stray when he hears metallic crack of a can being open. He turns to Keith, freezing when he sees what Keith is pouring into the bag.

Red Lion Beer. The same brand that camper drank. Shiro's stomach clenches involuntarily.

_That doesn’t mean anything_.

“I thought you didn’t drink beer,” he says slowly as he resumes flouring the fish.

“I don’t,” Keith says. “But I sometimes use it in cooking. It’s called beer-battered fish for a reason you know.”

Shiro hums an acknowledgment, brows creasing when his gaze falls on the can.

Unaware of Shiro’s inner turmoil, Keith stirs the batter to check the consistency. Once satisfied, Keith begins dipping the floured fish into the mixture, letting the excess drip off before carefully placing the strips into the pan.

“By the way …” Keith says over the pops and sizzles of hot oil, “I’m going back into town again for supplies. Is there anything you want me to grab for you?”

“You were just in town like, less than a week ago.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t really thinking about necessities at the time,” Keith says with a smirk, glancing at Shiro with hooded eyes. Shiro’s stomach flips at the sight.

“Still, I can’t believe you’re leaving me again,” Shiro pouts, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and nuzzling into crook of his neck.

Keith’s shoulders jump and he leans away.

“Woah, careful there big guy, I don’t think you want any more burns to add to the collection,” he says, giving the hot, oil-filled pan a pointed swish.

“Oh, right,” Shiro pulls away, giving Keith some space while he works.

Shiro anxiously rubs at his right bicep, along the knotted, scarred flesh. For the past week, every time he’s tried to do something that could be considered even remotely suggestive, Keith either pulls away or tenses up.

Maybe he’s just been too clingy and Keith doesn’t have the heart to tell him. Or maybe he’s just bad at sex. Of course, if that’s all this is then he would gladly swear off sex if it made Keith more comfortable.

_... Unless there's something else that's been bothering him._

Shiro bites his lip.

“Hey … did I say or _do_ anything that upset you?”

Keith turns and arches a thick eyebrow. “No. Why?”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. “You’ve been … distant lately.”

Keith frowns, gaze returning to the pan. “No I haven’t.

Shiro’s brow furrows.

“You keep running off every chance you get,” he points out as gently as possible.

Keith’s grip on the pan handle tighten, knuckles blanching. “I’ve just been busy … with stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Shiro asks, trying to keep his tone light despite paranoia gnawing at his fraying nerves.

“Just … stuff-stuff – look it doesn’t matter. I’m not avoiding you ok?”

In the back of Shiro’s mind is a voice telling him not to push but he ignores it, following curiosity and anxiety down the path they’ve lain out before him.

“You just seemed really upset after those camps got attacked. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Keith says tersely and, judging by his tone, that’s the end of it.  

Shiro presses his lips together so as not to say anything else that might upset Keith.

“Here,” Keith hands the spatula to Shiro, “You take over.”

Shiro blinks but steps forward, wrapping his fingers around the utensil. Grabbing his bag off the floor, Keith strides over to the desk where he’d placed the stereo earlier. He grabs a cassette from his bags and jams it into the tape deck, pressing buttons with more force than is strictly necessary.

Once the tape clicks into place [the energetic strumming of a guitar greets their ears, followed by pounding drums](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v24ljjtqb-U).

 

_Finished with my woman ‘cause she couldn’t help me with my mind  
People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time_

 

Keith twists the knobs until he’s satisfied with volume – loud enough to suggest that he’s pretty much done talking for a while.

 

_All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy  
Think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find something to pacify _

_Can you help me  
Occupy my brain_

 

Keith returns to Shiro’s side and leans his hip against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he watches Shiro poke and prod at the fish.

 

_I need someone to show me the things in life that I can’t find  
I can’t see the things that make true happiness I must be blind_

 

While the guitarist begins showing off his skills, Keith lifts the beer to his lips and takes a gulp. His features twist.

“Nope, still gross,” he mutters. “You want the rest?”

Shiro’s eyes dart to the can, stomach twisting.

“Uh … no thanks.”

Keith looks at the can with a frown before downing remaining amber liquid and crushing it against the counter.

While the music provides ample background noise it does little to ease the tension building between the two. Doing his best to ignore the atmosphere, Shiro pokes at the fish, lifting the edges to check on the golden-brown crust. Beside him, Keith watches impassively.

 

_Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry  
Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal_

 

“Looks about done,” Keith says, lacking his earlier enthusiasm. “Where are the paper towels?”

“In the, uh … cupboard,” Shiro gestures vaguely, focused entirely on not burning the fish.

 

_And so as you hear these words telling you now of my state  
I tell you to enjoy life I wish I could but it’s too late_

 

In the midst of the noise, Shiro hears a dull creak and clinking of tins, followed by lengthy silence.

 “… Shiro.”

As the song fades out and into the [next](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxOBOhRECoo), Shiro tears his gaze away from the pan and turns to Keith, freezing when he sees the long-forgotten gun and holster clenched in Keith’s white-knuckled hand. ~~~~

 

_We’re caught in a trap_

 

“Where did you get this,” Keith practically growls.

 

_I can’t walk out_

 

“It … It was in the pack.”

“You said there was nothing else,” Keith hisses, rising to his feet.

 

_Because I love you too much baby_

 

“I know, I –”

“You lied to me!”

“I did it to protect you!”

“ _Protect me_?!”

 “It wouldn’t have been wise to give it to you at the time, you weren’t in the right state of mind.”

 “And just _WHEN_ were you going to give it to me?”

 “Well certainly not _NOW_ , not with the way you’ve been acting lately.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“You’ve been obsessed with the attacked campsites!”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“I saw you at Holt’s camp.”

 Keith’s eyes widen. “You were spying on me?”

Shiro stiffens at his odd choice of words. There’s part of his brain that’s screaming at him, ordering him to just shut up, to let it go. But it’s no use as all his frustrations bubble over like lava, spilling over and burning them both.

“The phone line went down after you left …”

Keith’s eyes narrow dangerously, sharpening like knives. “What are you implying?”

Regret washes over Shiro immediately at the sight of Keith’s withering glare and he stutters, “Nothing … it’s nothing. Let’s just forget about it.”

“No, no. _Go on_ ,” Keith insists, taking a step closer to Shiro, hackles raised. “I’d love to hear it.”

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to his remaining threads of composure.

“Look, I’m just … _worried_ about you.”

“Don’t be!” Keith snaps, “I can take care of myself.”

Shiro presses his fingers to his temples.

“You. Don’t. HAVE. TO.” He says through grit teeth. “I thought you understood that by now – I thought you trusted me!”

“I _did_!” Keith shouts voice lowering as his eyes narrow, “Apparently that was my first mistake.”

Grabbing his bag, Keith storms to the door, yanking his jacket so hard it tears the nail it was hooked on out of the wall.

“Keith! Wait I didn’t –”

The door rattles in its frame as Keith slams it behind him, nearly hitting Shiro who fumbles with the knob as he tries to chase after him. By the time Shiro opens the door it’s too late. Keith vaults over the railing, eager to get as far away from Shiro as possible. Shiro’s chest slams into the barrier as he peers over the edge, watching helplessly as Keith runs away.

Numbly, he pushes off the railing, walking back inside as if on autopilot. He leans bonelessly against the door. Beside him, the stereo blares mockingly in all its grainy glory.

 

_We’re caught in a trap_  
_I can’t walk out_  
_Because I love you too much baby_

In a display of impotent frustration, he rips off his cap and throws it across the room. The headpiece hits the cupboards with a hearty _thwack_ before falling to the floor. He scrubs a hand up and down his face before running it through his hair, giving the longer strands a harsh tug.

When his eyes finally open they fall on the crumpled hat. The hat that was lent to him by Keith as an act of trust – a promise. It was important to him.

The door groans as Shiro pushes off of it and drags himself across the room, stooping down to pick up the discarded headwear. His thumb rubs over the faded thread logo, over the mascot’s sharp, exposed teeth. The Lion’s snarl reminds him of Keith’s twisted features when he called Shiro out for not trusting him.

Leaning against the counter with his prosthetic, he sucks in a shuddery breath through grit teeth. He rocks back and forth. His fingers and thumb press into his temple as tears spill down his cheeks.

Suspicion is a terrible thing. Like a cancer, it leeches the life from you, choking out trust.

Behind him, the stereo repeats the same mocking words before fading into painful silence.

 

_Oh don’t you know I’m – caught in a trap_  
_I can’t walk out_  
_Because I love you too much baby_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I didn't forget about the gun. But I'll bet ya'll wish I did.
> 
> Also, I love seeing theories about what's going on! So far I've seen: werewolves, wendigos, ghosts, and serial killers, and all I can say is ... well ... no comment ;)


	31. Day 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music to mope to:  
> Breaking up is hard to do – Neil Sandaka  
> Ray Charles - I Can't Stop Loving You
> 
> As always, thank you so so much for all your comments and theories!!! I'd reply to them all but I can only write variations of 'OMG ASKJDHLKHLKS THANK YOU I'M GLAD UR ENJOYING IT UR MAKING ME CRY' so many times before it grows annoying. That being said, I _do_ read them all and squeal like a school-girl while doing so.
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter as well! It's a doozy ;)

If you were to ask Shiro if he misses Keith he would quickly say, _no_. He doesn’t miss Keith.

He _aches_ for him.

He longs to see Keith’s infectious smile. To feel his gentle touches. To bask in his comforting presence. But most of all, he wishes he could hear Keith again, to have something fill the monotonous quiet.

It's not like Keith was a chatterbox or anything, more often it was the little things that filled the silence. The scratch of pencil on paper as Keith scribbled away in his notebook. The rustling of grass when Keith would settle next to him after sparring. And more recently, the shifting of sheets coupled with soft, even breaths.

Before, Shiro could go days – _weeks_ without contact with other people. In fact, he’d preferred it. People were messy and demanding. Exhausting even. But after spending time with Keith, and even chatting with Lance and Allura, he’s come to realize how painful quiet can be.

Ever since their strained conversation, Lance stopped checking in on him like he used to. Even Allura, who had always been available day or night to hear his questions or concerns, has fallen silent, only answering rarely and in clipped tones.

Then there’s Keith.

_Keith._

Shiro throws his arm across his face with a forlorn sigh.

At first, frustration and stubbornness kept Shiro from confronting Keith right away. Honestly, he thought some distance might do them some good, give them a chance to cool off so they could talk things out calmly.

When he finally couldn’t bear to be apart any longer, he went to Keith’s camp to apologize – suspicions be damned – and to get some answers. But when he arrived, the empty field told him all he needed to know.

Keith was gone.

Whether or not for good, he can’t say.

The heel of Shiro’s palm presses almost painfully into his eye in an effort to suppress the hot tears welling behind tightly shut lids.

He thought, after everything they’d been through, Keith would at _least_ leave him with a note, an apology, an explanation – _hell_ , he’d accept a lengthy, scathing letter about the importance of trust in a relationship and how dare he accuse Keith of all those awful things no matter how suspicious he seemed at the time.

Shiro scrubs face with a groan. He needs something to drown out these miserable thoughts.

Turning his head, his gaze falls on the stereo on his desk. Right where Keith had left it. Part of him still hopes Keith will come back for it. But after everything that’s happened, he’s not even sure if a hat and stereo are enough to lure Keith back.

With herculean effort, Shiro drags himself over to the desk and flips the cassette over. No need to hear the soundtrack to his big mistake all over again. As the tape clicks in to place, Shiro shuffles back onto his bed, collapsing into the mattress with a huff. The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfDc3SIP3pI) starts pleasantly enough, with an upbeat tune and bubbly scatting.

And then the vocals come in.

 

_Breaking up is hard to do_

 

“Oh god.”

 

 _Don’t take your love away from me_  
_Don’t you leave my heart in misery_  
_If you go than I’ll be blue_  
_Cause breaking up is hard to do_

 

Shiro groans, slowly dragging his pillow over his face. Maybe he’ll suffocate.

 

_Remember when you held me tight_  
_And you kissed me all through the night_  
_Think of all that we’ve been through_  
_‘Cause breaking up is hard to do_

 

The rest of the lyrics fade into the background as memories flood Shiro’s mind. He thinks back to that first time Keith held him, the way he cradled him in his arms, made him feel safe.

At the time, Keith seemed so stoic, so strong. Yet when it was Shiro’s turn to comfort him, he hardly seemed like the same person. He was smaller, more vulnerable. It made Shiro realize that they _both_ needed someone to lean on – that they could lean on each other.

He thought Keith had realized that too. Apparently, he was wrong.

The tape continues on to the next [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3rqszwlnLM) which, judging by the lyrics, promises to be equally depressing. However, Shiro makes no move to stop it. After all, if you’re going to wallow in misery you might as well have an appropriate soundtrack.

 

_I can’t stop loving you_  
_I’ve made up my mind_  
_To live in memories_  
_Of the lonesome times_

_I can’t stop wanting you_  
_It’s useless to say_  
_So I’ll just live my life_  
_In dreams of yesterday_

_Those happy hours_  
_That we once knew_  
_Though long ago_  
_They still make me blue_

_They say that time_  
_Heals a broken heart_  
_But time has stood still_  
_Since we’ve been apart_

 

There’s a soft tapping at his window and he sits up with start, heart leaping as he turns to see –

 _Coran_.

Shiro visibly deflates.

Coran reminds Shiro of a painfully uncool, but kind uncle. The type of uncle who doesn’t really understand the latest trends but is always eager to join in.

The older man waves cheerfully and let’s himself inside.

“Hello Shiro! Looks like you’ve settled in nicely,” he says as he looks around the cabin, taking a particular interest in the various knick-knacks Shiro has collected – a fossilized claw Shiro found in one of the caches, an antler discovered by Keith, and several pretty rocks they’d collected together.

“Thanks,” Shiro says listlessly.

“Listening to some _‘tunes’_?” Coran asks, nodding at the boom-box.

“Uh – yeah,” Shiro quickly jumps to his feet and turns off the stereo, embarrassed that his private pity party wasn’t so private after all.

“Reminds me of when I was young,” Coran reminisces fondly, “Listening to _The Crescendolls_ – the greatest musicians this side of Wozblay”

Shiro blinks. He’s never heard of them in his entire life, and his mother knew _all_ the popular bands back in the day. Must’ve been some New Zealand group.

“That sounds … nice?” He says weakly.

“Oh, it was!” Coran wistfully sighs. “It was.”

While Coran loses himself in his memories, Shiro shifts awkwardly.

“So … what are you doing here?” He asks as politely as possible.

“I came down to fix the wire,” Coran explains, not realizing that Shiro meant his tower specifically, “And none too soon, I’ve heard that the Keith Fire might not be as under control as we thought. There’s been talk of evacuating your area if it gets any worse.”

Shiro’s stomach drops. “What?”

“Apparently it combined with some of the smaller fires that were started by the lighting. So, if I were you, I’d make sure I was ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Sleep with your socks on and all that.”

Coran’s words grow muffled as images of Keith swirl around in Shiro’s mind. Keith – trapped and alone, flames licking at his heels.

“Shiro? Are you alright?” Coran asks, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

Flinching as if shocked, Shiro turns to Coran with wide eyes.

“You look a little pale,” Coran says gently, retracting his hand.

“I …” Shiro’s gaze falls to the floor. “It’s nothing.”

He can’t tell Coran about Keith. He just can’t. 

“What’s wrong?” Coran continues, voice soft and low, like he’s talking to a frightened animal.

Shiro looks up at Coran’s softening features, brows drawn up and in with concern.

He hesitates.

He doesn’t know who he can trust anymore. Not Lance. Not Allura. Not Keith. But his suspicions and fears are eating him alive – killing him slowly.

He stares into Coran’s concerned eyes. Coran gives him an encouraging nod. Shiro’s gaze drops to the floor again and he bites his lip.  
  
“What would you do … if you suspected someone you cared about of doing something bad?”

Coran eyebrows arch and he blinks a few times before regaining his composure.

“Well … you might not have the whole story,” he offers.

“But what if they won’t _tell_ you the whole story?” Shiro groans, dropping into his chair as he clenches white locks.

Coran sighs. “Sometimes the truth is too fantastic to be believed.”

He places a hand on Shiro’s sagging shoulder. Shiro looks up with tired eyes.

“Whatever this is about … I suggest you try talking to them. Nothing good will come of _‘what if’s'_ and _‘maybe’s'_.”

Once again, Shiro’s gaze drops to the floor and he rubs a thumb over prosthetic knuckles. “To be honest … I don’t even know if he’s still here.”

Coran cocks his head. “Here?”

Shiro squirms, cheek warming. “I … met someone – a camper and we … we got close.”

“Oh, I see!” Coran brightens.

He gives Shiro a wink and a pat. “I’ll tell you what; I have a weakness for matters of the heart. I’ll call my assistant and see if your missing man has indeed left the park.”

Shiro sits up straighter. “Really?”

Coran nods. “I’ll radio you if I find anything.”

Shiro grimaces. “Actually I … I don’t want anyone to know about me and Keith.”

“Keith?” Coran echoes. “You mean like the Keith Fire?”

Shiro flushes up to his ears and stiffens. Noting Shiro’s sudden change in demeaner, Coran gives his shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Fear not, I – Coran Hironimus Wimbleton Smythe – am the soul of discretion,” he smiles proudly, giving his mustache a quick twist and tug.

 Despite his apprehension, Shiro find himself smiling as well.

“Just switch your radio over to channel two,” Coran says, “No one should be using that frequency.”

Shiro does as he’s told, performing his obligatory farewells before settling back into his chair to anxiously wait for Coran to contact him. He cradles the radio in his palms, knee bouncing restlessly. When it offers him no comfort, he drops it back in its charger. Then he paces. And he thinks. Unfortunately, he has a lot of time to pace and think.

What they’re doing is a long shot. After all, what are the odds that someone as secretive as Keith would just waltz through the park’s preverbal front door.

Shiro drags his fingers across his chin and lips, stroking repetitively.

If this doesn’t work, he’ll have to come up with a plan b. Maybe a ranger or other lookout has seen Keith. If push comes to shove, he could always ask around town, see if anyone remembers seeing him.

Shiro scrubs his hand up and down his face with a groan.

Ok, now he just sounds like a stalker.

When Coran’s voice finally pierces the quiet, Shiro nearly jumps out of his skin and he scrambles to answer.

“Shiro? You there?”

“I’m here Coran. What did you find?”

“Well, according to the records, the only Keith to come through the park in the past 3 months was a Keith _Sincline_ – arrived a few day ago.”

Shiro blinks.

_Sincline?_

It must be a different Keith. A coincidence.

“And – er … I don’t know how to tell you this,” Coran continues, “but it turns out _this_ Keith stole some old logbooks.”

Shiro’s brows arch to his hairline. “What? Why?”

“No idea. They’re just for visitors to sign so we know who’s going in and out of the park. We have a computer database now so it’s not that big of a deal. I just like to keep them around for the nostalgia.”

Shiro’s fingers comb through his hair, tugging at the longer strands.

“I … I don’t understand. Can your assistant remember anything about him? What he looked like?”

“I’ll ask.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as Shiro waits. Long enough for new questions to formulate in his agitated mind.

Assuming this Keith Sincline and his Keith are one and the same, why would he steal the logbooks? What does he want to know? Or … what does he want to keep others from knowing?

“Alright Shiro, I’ve got some more info on our Keith Sincline.”

Shiro sits up in his chair, ramrod straight.

“Luki said he was young, had dark, shoulder length hair –”

_That sounds like him._

Shiro sighs, though he’s not sure if he should feel relieved that Keith is still in the park or appalled by his apparent thievery.

“And he had a Garrison Community College ID on him.”

_What?_

“That can’t be right … Keith said he went to Kerberos University,” Shiro says, features twisting.

Why would he lie about something like that? More importantly … what else he has he lied about?

“He was also asking about the Holt’s,” Coran continues. “Apparently he knew them.”

Shiro’s eyes go wide. Now he knows for _fact_ Keith doesn’t. The only reason Keith would know the Holt’s by name is because ... because _Shiro_ told him.

His stomach sinks like a rock.

Slumping forward in his chair, he leans on his elbows, gripping his hair in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he spies the crumbled red fabric of Akira’s pack. He remembers the way Keith tore into it without hesitation – secret pockets, he’d said. In the end, he never had done anything with it, just left it in the corner to gather dust.

Shiro’s eyes narrow.

Who is Akira Kogane? Is he really Keith’s father? Or was that just another lie?

A dull throb beats against his temples, and he closes his eyes.  
  
_Keith …_

_Who are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith what are you up to? (≖︿≖)
> 
> The Crescendolls is a reference to Interstellar 5555 – a film with a soundtrack exclusively featuring music from Daft Punk’s album Discovery. It’s pretty cool. Check it out.
> 
> Here are some songs that didn’t make the cut, but are equally good to mope to:  
> A-Ha – Crying in the rain  
> Bobby Vinton – Mr. Lonely


	32. Day 77

Crystalline water laps teasingly at the toes of Shiro’s boots as he lingers by the lakeshore. Various waterfowl glide lazily through the water, sending ripples across the once glassy surface as they flap and preen. It’s a beautiful sight, the kind of thing one would see on postcards or in nature documentaries.

However, the Arcadian surroundings do little to lift Shiro’s melancholy mood. He slides his thumb over the smooth stone in his hand before sending it skipping across the water, disrupting the duck’s peaceful swim.

He’d done the same with Keith not long ago. While Shiro scoured the shore for the perfect stone, Keith had busied himself with chucking the largest rocks he could find into the lake, seemingly pleased with his mischief.

Shiro’s head droops with a sigh. Perhaps one day he’ll be able to get through a simple task without being reminded of Keith. It seems today is not that day.

He sucks in a steadying breath, followed by a shaky exhale.Hints of smoke hang in the cool morning air, a subtle reminder that he is but a visitor in these parts and will have to leave when nature chooses.

Shiro’s fingers and thumb press into his temples. He’ll have to tell someone about Keith. Of course, if he does that, he’ll also have to come clean about everything else.

With a sigh, Shiro’s hand falls to his side hanging limply as he stares out across the lake. When he arrived at the park he never dreamed that he’d leave it in handcuffs. Now, it’s a very real possibility.

Rustling brush interrupts his thoughts, and he turns toward the sound, heart leaping in his chest.      

_Keith?_

With Coran’s recent findings still fresh in his mind, Shiro ducks behind some bushes. As he’d hoped, or perhaps feared, Keith emerges from the brush with a determined look in his eyes and a formidable looking pair of bolt cutters in his hand.

_When did he get those? And Why?_

The answer to Shiro’s second question is quickly answered when Keith begins walking in the direction of the fence. Shiro’s eyes narrow as Keith’s words echo mockingly in the back of his head.

_‘Healthy curiosity’ my ass._

Carefully, Shiro abandons his hiding place and follows Keith, making sure to stay out of sight. He easily keeps pace with Keith’s long strides. Sporadically, Keith stops to look around, but fails to spot Shiro as he hides behind the dense brush and large rocks that line the path.

Once Keith reaches the fence, Shiro notices that the old lock has been replaced with a key-card reader.

_When did that get put in?_

And more importantly – why? It seems like a lot of trouble to go to protect some moss or whatever the hell they have back there. It almost makes Keith’s persistent _‘curiosity’_ understandable. Almost.

Undeterred, Keith bypasses the door and crouches by a portion of fence beside it, brandishing the cutters. The moment they touch the metal he jumps back with a yelp, startling Shiro. Obscenities pour from Keith’s mouth as he clasps his hands together, dropping the cutters in the process. For a moment, he stares at his palms with wide eyes that quickly narrow as they dart back to the fence. He snatches the cutters off the ground, grumbling something under his breath as he storms back down the path. Luckily, he’s too absorbed in cussing out whoever electrified the fence to notice Shiro tucked away in the bushes.

As Keith storms away, Shiro briefly considers stopping him before dismissing the thought. He’s no longer confident that he could take Keith down, not with all the training he’s done.

Shiro’s stomach drops like a stone.

_Was that all part of some grand plan too?_

Shaking his head, Shiro quickly darts after Keith, stalking him with the amount of care as earlier.

They’re halfway through Arus meadow when Keith’s head suddenly snaps in Shiro’s direction, eyes sharp and narrow. Shiro’s heart hammers against his ribs as Keith’s eyes slowly rove across the field, the woods, and the hills. Satisfied that he’s not being followed, Keith begins clambering up a rocky incline to his left, one they’d passed dozens of times before.

It’s no easy climb, and Keith’s foot slips more than once. And each time Keith falters, Shiro jerks automatically. Despite everything, he still cares, and the instinct to protect Keith is still alive and kicking.

Once Keith reaches the top, he disappears from sight and Shiro waits. Patiently.

After a few minutes pass, Keith’s head pops over the edge, darting to-and-fro as he scans the area. With his heart in his throat, Shiro presses deeper into the brush, praying that Keith won’t see him.

Fortunately, his prayers are answered, and Keith clambers down the rocks like a monkey. This time he’s prepared with pair of thick rubber gloves protruding from his back pocket. Keith jumps the last couple feet, landing with a grunt. Once again, he scans the area, only departing when he’s confident that no one is around.

The second Keith disappears from view, Shiro abandons his hiding place, dashing to the rocky incline. Luckily, he has enough muscle memory from his rock-climbing days to make the climb plain old dangerous instead of suicidal. Like Keith, he loses his footing more than once in his haste, but quickly recovers and continues onward.

Once Shiro reaches the top, he looks around. At first, he doesn’t see anything special, just rocks and trees. But the further he walks, he begins to see more physical signs of life, namely, a large pile of junk. It’s comprised mostly of empty food cans and charred planks of wood, but there’s also an old rusty propane tank and a busted folding chair. To the right of the pile, a few yards away, he spots what appears to be an improvised hatch, patched together using an old _Trail Closed_ sign and some boards.

The hinges creak noisily as the door falls back, hitting the ground with a resounding _thud_. As the dust settles, Shiro peers inside before jumping down the short drop. He hits the ground with a grunt, eyes darting warily.As he straightens and looks around, he finds himself inside a surprisingly large dugout. The area is almost as big as his tower, albeit narrower and longer, fortified with several thick, sturdy logs on both sides as well as above.

The shelter is fairly dark and, other than an inspection lamp, the only source of light is a large opening at the far end of the bunker.

Against the wall to his right, is a sleeping bag, a pile of ratty looking blankets, and most noticeably an old double-barrel shotgun.

Shiro’s eyes widen as Keith’s words bubble up in his brain, filling him with dread.

_‘I took care of them’._

That first day, he wasn’t going crazy, he _did_ hear a shotgun – _Keith’s_ shotgun.

Stomach twisting, he turns to face the opposite wall where he spots two makeshift tables, both cobbled together with large planks of wood. On one is various radio equipment and electronics while the other, illuminated by the lantern, is covered in messy piles of papers as well as the logbooks Coran mentioned.

Shiro immediately begins rifling through the documents. Amid the papers are missing persons posters and news clippings about the park, but mostly radio transcripts. Transcripts from _years_ ago. At the top of the pile are more recent pages containing conversations between three people only identified by the initials: A, L and S.

No prizes for guessing who they are.

There are also transmissions by a fourth mystery person simply identified with a question mark. But these seem to be gibberish, lines of Morse Code that translate into nothing but random letters.

Pushing the papers aside, Shiro cracks open one of the registry books, quickly flipping through the pages. Admittedly, he has no idea what he’s looking for, but he stops scouring when he sees a name circled in ominously red ink.

_Trevor Devall._

The man whose camp Keith attacked. The man who Keith made no attempt to disguise his contempt for. The man whose name Keith had never known before Shiro mentioned it to him. The man whose tent was slashed to ribbons – neat and clean. Too clean.

Shiro’s hand unconsciously rises to cover his mouth, head swimming. In his daze, he fails to hear the bunker’s owner cautiously sneaking up behind him.

The cool muzzle of a gun presses between his shoulder blades and a low voice warns him, “Don’t move.”

Shiro freezes, raising his hands in surrender.

“Turn around. _Slowly_ ,” the voice orders.

He does as he’s told, coming face-to-face with the muzzle of a magnum, and behind it, a very shocked Keith.

“Shiro?” He gapes, mirroring Shiro’s own stunned expression.

_How’d he get back so fast?_

“Wha-what are you doing here?” Keith stutters. “How did you –”

“I saw you at the fence again,” Shiro says tightly, having recovered from his initial shock. “Seems to me your interest in it goes a bit further than _healthy curiosity._ ”

Keith stiffens, and his shoulder shift higher. He says nothing.

“What the hell is all this Keith? What are you _really_ doing out here _?”_  
  
Again, Keith says nothing.

Days of suspicion, sleepless nights and endless speculating, have finally worn down the last of Shiro’s patience and his eyes narrow dangerously.

“I thought you trusted me, I thought you lo–” he stops himself, biting his lip as the word lodges itself in his throat. He swallows it down. “Were you just … _using_ me this whole time?”

“No!” Keith shouts, conviction evident in his voice and horrified expression.

“Well what then? What was so top secret that you couldn’t tell me –”

“ALIENS!”

Shiro freezes. Did he hear that right?

“What?”

“I’m … looking for aliens,” Keith mumbles.

He lets his arms fall to his side, the gun hanging loosely in his hand. His whole body seems to wilt with the confession and he begins to shift uncomfortably.

“I, uh … I don’t … _what_?” Shiro stutters, face contorting with confusion.

“That’s what my dad was doing out here. He thought that the missing people might have something to do with the UFO sightings from the 50s. All of this,” Keith gestures around the bunker, “it’s his research.” His gaze falls to the floor again. “I thought that if I could retrace his steps, I could finally find out what happened to him.”

Tentatively, Shiro takes a step closer, features softening. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Keith’s head snaps up, features twisting into something pained and remorseful. “I – I was scared ok? Scared that you’d think I was crazy, scared that you were in on it. After what happened with the Holts and that Devall guy I just – I panicked! I thought I might be next!” Keith’s gaze lowers, and his voice grows suddenly quiet. “… And then I found this place.”

“That’s when you stopped coming ‘round,” Shiro says slowly, as the pieces start to fall into place.

Keith nods, still unable to look Shiro in the eye. “I didn’t know how much time I had before I was next. I didn’t know who to trust.” Slowly, Keith raises his head. “Lying to you was hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you and I’m sorry … that I hurt you.” He suddenly ducks his head, dark tresses falling like a curtain around his face.

Shiro steps closer, gently resting his hands on Keith’s hunched shoulders.

“Keith …”

He doesn’t look up.

Shiro cups Keith’s cheeks, tilting the younger man’s face till wet, violet eyes reluctantly meet his.

“I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t be honest with me. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you and I’m sorry … that _I_ hurt you.”

The gun falls to the ground with a clatter as Keith buries his face in Shiro’s chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his uniform. Relief washes over Shiro like a tidal wave and he wraps his arms around Keith, pulling him close. He tucks his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, sucking in a deep shuddery breath that ruffles Keith’s hair.

_Rosemary._

Keith squeezes back tightly, wringing out days’ worth of stress. Warmth spreads across Shiro’s chest, through his arms and legs, down to his toes. He sighs.

“Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“... It's good to have you back.”

A fond smile tugs at Shiro lips and he replies with equal fondness, "It's good to be back."

He can feel Keith’s lips where they’re pressed to throat, pulling up into a relieved smile. He squeezes Shiro tighter.

Reluctantly, Shiro pulls back, knocking their foreheads together.

“Oh Keith,” he murmurs, stroking the younger man’s ruddy cheek with his thumb. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Not arrest me?” Keith offers.

A breathy chuckle slips past Shiro’s lips as they split into a grin, and any remaining tension slowly ebbs away. He opens his eyes to see an anxious Keith peering up at him with an apprehensive smile.

“We good?” He asks warily.

Shiro’s smile softens into something gentle, tender. “So good.”

He’d missed this. The closeness. The banter. But they still have one more problem to solve.

“So … now what?” Shiro asks blithely.

Keith blinks up at him. “Huh?”

“What’s the plan?”

Frowning, Keith cocks his head. “Plan?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Shiro chuckles, causing Keith to pout. “What are we gonna do? About –” he gestures around them, “All of this?”

“ _We_?” Keith arches an eyebrow.

“You didn’t think was just gonna walk away and leave you to do this on your own did you?”

Keith’s eyes widen before lowering to the floor. His brows pinch together, peaking in the middle. Shiro’s heart aches.

“Keith …” Shiro places his hand on Keith’s shoulder and the younger man looks up, doubts hanging over him like a dark cloud. “You’re not doing this alone. I won’t abandon you … I promise.”

“… Why?”

It’s not really a question, more of a plea, and both know deep down in their hearts what the answer is. But Keith wants to hear it from Shiro’s mouth. He _has_ to hear it.

“… Because I love you.”

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. Like he’s surprised. His eyes dart across Shiro’s face, gauging his sincerity as the last pieces of doubt and suspicion slowly crumble.Tentatively, Shiro leans into Keith’s space, slow enough to allow for escape should Keith so choose. However, Keith guesses Shiro’s intent and meets him halfway, catching his lips in an eager, but chaste, kiss.

It’s a peace offering. A promise. A mending of bonds.

Shiro’s hand rises to cup Keith’s cheek. He strokes his thumb along Keith’s cheekbones while the rest of his fingers tease the hairs along Keith’s nape. Mirroring the motion, Keith scratches the short hairs at the base of Shiro’s skull. The gentle drag of Keith’s chapped lips against his sends shivers up Shiro’s spine, and he can’t help but smile.

Keith is the first to break to kiss, lips hovering over Shiro’s as he whispers, “I love you too.”

The fond smile on Shiro’s lips grows into a giddy grin and he catches Keith’s lips in a series of pecks, smiling widening with each one. When Shiro finally pulls back, he can see that Keith’s eyes, once clouded with apprehension, are now clear, ablaze with a familiar spark of determination.

“Remember your woodpecker problem?”

Keith’s sudden change of subject gives Shiro whiplash and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “How can I forget. Why?”

“Well it’s not woodpeckers, it’s wood-knocking.”

“Wood-knocking?” Shiro repeats, features twisting with confusion. “What’s that?”

“It’s when you knock two pieces of wood together – pretty self-explanatory,” Keith says. “Cryptid hunters use it to attract Bigfoot.”

“That’s … very interesting,” Shiro frowns, “But I thought we were looking for aliens?”

“We are, but I think someone’s been using the wood-knocking to broadcast coded messages.”

Keith steps over to the table and starts searching through the papers, pulling out one of the pages of code Shiro had noticed earlier.

“It sounds like Morse Code, but it doesn’t translate to any cipher I know of,” Keith says, brows furrowing as he scans the page for what is probably the hundredth time.

“Do you think it could be whoever Lance was talking to?” Shiro asks.

“Maybe,” Keith says, though he doesn’t seem convinced.

“Well, it sounds like this mystery person is the first thing we should investigate. Unless you had another plan.” ~~~~

“Honestly, I was just going to break into the fence,” Keith says with a shrug.

Shiro frowns. “I think we need more information before we start breaking into anything, and our wood-knocker just might have some answers.”

Keith nods in agreement, features hardening with determination.

“Oh, and you’re moving in with me,” Shiro adds quickly.

Keith’s stern expression falters. “What?”

“Assuming you’re right about the missing campers, I don’t want you out here on your own, top secret base or not.”

Keith’s brows furrow and his gaze lowers as he considers Shiro’s words. “…Yeah…alright.”

“Good.”

With that settled, Shiro looks around the bunker as he begins to formulate a plan.

“I assume you’ll need some of this stuff,” he says perching his hands on his hips. “Let’s only take the essentials. I don’t think all of this’ll fit in my tower.”

Keith nods and begins picking out the necessities – starting with the pages scattered across the bench. While Keith rummages through the papers, Shiro takes the time to take a closer look around.

He begins by walking over to the far opening, peering over the rocky barrier. Through the smoky air, past the tips of trees, he can spy the twinkling water of the lake and beyond that, snowy mountain peaks. Talk about a room with a view.

Whoever built this place obviously put not just work, but heart into it, decorating it with little touches to make it feel homier – such as a windchime, cobbled together with rusty silverware and fishing wire. But the most interesting decorations by far are several drawings tacked onto some of the supporting logs. Each picture appears to be drawn by a young child, with the most frequent subjects being two people. The taller figure is labeled _‘dad’_ while the other is aptly titled _‘me’_. At the bottom of the page is the artist’s signature.

_Keith._

Shiro’s fingers slowly trace the taller figure’s thick, dark mess of hair with a sense of familiarity.

_Dad … Akira._

Looks like Keith wasn’t lying about that after all.

Shiro turns from the drawing to see Keith staring at him with a strange expression, sad, yet resigned.

“You must have a million questions,” he murmurs, before resuming his shuffling.

“Uh, yeah, something around that number,” Shiro says, keeping his tone light as he returns to Keith’s side.

Sighing, Keith says, “Alright, go ahead, hit me.”

Questions swarm around Shiro’s head like bees in a hive. Where does he even begin?

His gaze falls on the logbooks as Keith sets them aside. It’s a start.

“Is your name really Sincline?”

Keith spins to face him, eyes round as saucers. “How did –”

“I asked Coran to check the logs to see if you’d left the park. He said that you – or at least, someone who sounded like you, signed in as Keith Sincline.”

“I … yeah. That’s my _real_ name,” Keith says with a hint of disgust.

“But your dad’s name is Akira Kogane?” Shiro asks cautiously.

“Yeah,” Keith sighs. “He went by Akira after he left home. Didn’t want to be burdened with the name his parents gave him. He couldn’t change it officially, but then again, he never needed a piece of paper to tell him who he was and to me he was always … dad.”

“So, all that stuff you told me about him was true.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess he was also the one who build this bunker huh?” Shiro says, looking around the dim cavern.

“No, he wasn’t out here long enough to set up something of this scale,” Keith says, flipping through some notes before discarding them. “It was Hedrick.”

Shiro's eyes widen. “The crazy guy?”

Keith nods solemnly. “Maybe not so crazy after all. He built this bunker after his so-called death, most of this equipment is his too. He kept meticulously detailed accounts of radio chatter and any suspicious activity. Like, _really_ meticulous. And occasionally, mind-numbingly boring.” Keith sounds like he knows from experience.

“Wait, if this place is his … where is he now?” Shiro says nervously as images of a deranged ex-lookout running around the woods flashes though his mind.

“Buried about five feet from the bunker entrance,” Keith says ominously.

“ _Buried_?”

“My dad found him,” Keith explains, “or more accurately, he found his _body_. He’d been dead for a while too – maybe a heart attack, but who knows.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Dad kept journals.I found a few of them were in here. The last entry was dated a week after he sent me his last letter…”

Keith stops his packing and looks up at Shiro pleadingly. “I know what I said about chasing ghosts but … this is my last chance to find out what happened to him - to find out the truth.”

Shiro braces his hand on Keith’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I know … and we will.”

Smiling, Keith turns toslip the stack of papers into his pack before moving onto bench of electronics.

“What about the registry?” Shiro asks, noting the abandoned logs.

 “Don’t need them anymore. I got what I needed.”

“Which was…?”

“Proof that your superiors have been lying for years,” Keith says darkly.

Shiro’s eyes widen. “What?”

“In the past ten years, over 100 people have mysteriously disappeared after _allegedly_ leaving the park. And the one thing they all have in common is that they were all last seen in _this_ area – the Arus Region,” Keith turns to Shiro, features hardening. “The signatures of the missing people were _forged_. All to keep anyone from searching for them.”

That could explain Allura’s flippant attitude toward the Holt’s disappearance and Lance’s desire to keep Devall’s trashed campsite on the down-low. Although, the _‘why’_ is still a mystery to Shiro.

While Keith picks through the various electronics, Shiro’s brows draw together.

 “How do you know that the signatures were forged?”

“If you can get the original and the copy side by side, you can usually tell that something is off just by your first impressions. There are all sorts of signs. Length, letter spacing, shaky lines,” Keith says easily.

Shiro cocks an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

“Personal experience,” Keith smirks. “I learned how to copy my Grandparents’ signatures ages ago. It’s useful for all kinds of things.”

“Sorry I asked,” Shiro grumbles.

Keith just laughs. It’s a beautiful sound that bubbles from deep in his chest before spilling over his lips. It’s a sound Shiro has sorely missed.  
  
“Any room in your pack?” Keith asks, dragging Shiro from his fond thoughts.

Nodding, Shiro shrugs out of the rucksack and holds it open. Keith then proceeds to stuff it with more than what Shiro would deem necessary. But then again, what does he know about alien hunting? At least there are a few items that Shiro recognizes strewn about the bunker. Night-vision goggles, gasmask –

“Is that _dynamite_?”

Keith’s gaze follows where Shiro’s wide eyes are focused on a cardboard box containing several sticks of said explosive.

“No. It’s TNT,” he says nonchalantly as he continues to shove items into Shiro’s bursting pack.

“Oh! That so much better!”

“Relax, you could light ‘em on fire and they wouldn’t go off ... probably.”

Keith’s words offer little reassurance, and Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Perhaps I should rephrase the question: how the _hell_ did your dad get his hands on fucking _dynamite_? What was he going to do with it?”

“He knew a guy who knew a guy,” Keith says airily. “And dynamite can be used for all sorts of things. Obviously setting them off in the middle of a National Park during the height of summer is bad idea.”

“No shit,” Shiro mutters, sparing the explosives a wary glance before swinging the now laden pack over his shoulder with a grunt.

After grabbing Keith’s guns, the pair climb out of the bunker and make their way to the drop off. Now that secrecy isn’t a necessity, they decide to rappel down to make the decent safer. Once they reach the bottom, they begin the trek back to Shiro’s tower.

Despite recent events, the walk back is surprisingly pleasant, and they fall into their usual comfortable silence. Just like old times.

While Shiro enjoys the return to the normalcy – relatively speaking – there is another niggling thought prodding at the back of his mind.

“Hey, uh … I have a one more question,” Shiro says cautiously.

Keith’s eyes nervously dart to meet his, brows furrowing. “… Ok?”

“What started the whole alien thing for you?”

A short huff of a laugh escapes Keith’s lips as they curve into a fond smile. “Not to sound like a broken record but … my dad. During those summers we weren’t just camping, he would take me to sighting spots, show me his research and how to use the equipment.”

Shiro can picture it easily. Little Keith with his father. Staring up at the stars with the same childlike wonder he does today. While it paints a lovely picture, Shiro can’t stop a concerned frown from twisting his features.

“This isn’t one of those _‘for your dad’_ things is it?”

Keith shakes head, dark locks swaying. “No, no. I mean … it _is_ what he was passionate about, and I guess a lot of that passion rubbed off on me too,” he says, lips pursing in contemplation. “I dunno, it was more something I did _with_ him rather than because of or for him.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Shiro says thoughtfully. “My dad was a fighter pilot too. He once took me up with him. I’ll never forget how it felt. The rush. The freedom.” He sighs almost wistfully.

“Is that why you became one?” Keith asks over the creaking of the tower steps.

Shiro nods. “It was one of the reasons. I did genuinely enjoy flying, and I could have just been a commercial pilot, but I also think I wanted to have something in common with him. We were never all that close … I guess I was a bit of a mama’s boy,” he admits bashfully before growing contemplative. “I just wanted to make him proud, you know?”

Keith hums in understanding, stepping aside as Shiro opens the cabin door.

\--------------------

By the time they set up the majority of Keith’s equipment, diagrams, and papers, the sun is nothing more than a ruby haze behind distant mountain peaks. His cabin looks like something out of a conspiracy theorist’s wet-dream – an entire wall covered with radio transcripts and other papers, while his desk has become buried in gear.

As Keith organizes the mess, Shiro offers the notes he’d gathered on his hikes, eyes widening with Keith adds one of his own.

“When did you get this?”

“In a cache near Ruby River. I’d noticed it when I first came through, but I never imagined that the combination was _1-2-3-4_ ,” Keith says, obviously still appalled by the sheer stupidity of it. “I went back to check it after you told me the code.”

Shiro smooths out the crumpled note, quickly reading its contents.

**8/13**

**J,**  
**I know I joked about losing my mind before, but I think I really might be. I’ve been seeing things I just can’t explain. Things that don’t make sense. I really wish you were here. Maybe I’ll sound less crazy with a few shots of whisky in me - assuming you haven’t emptied the bottle yet.**  
**\- C**

“Wonder what he saw,” Shiro muses, taping the note to the window.

“Whatever it was probably cost him his memories.”

“You don’t believe the amnesia story, do you,” Shiro says.

“Do _you_?” Keith retorts dryly.

Shiro bites his tongue.

Frankly, the idea of a ranger falling ass-over-teakettle into a ditch sounds far more plausible than an alien cover-up. But Shiro has to agree that circumstances surrounding his alleged accident are too coincidental to ignore.

Once the last piece is in place, Shiro coaxes Keith to eat and shepherding him into bed, citing the importance of a good night’s sleep before any sort of investigation. Once comfortably settled, Shiro wraps his arm around Keith’s waist with a sigh. While Keith does reciprocate Shiro’s affection, inching back until their bodies press flush together, he still feels tense – body taut like a wire.

After a few minutes with no change, Shiro cracks one eye open, peering over Keith’s shoulder. There’s a deep crease forming between Keith’s brows as he stares at the wall, concentrating deeply. Shiro places his hand over Keith’s eyes, causing the younger man to flinch.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Keith’s temple. “You can brood in the morning.”

Smiling softly, Keith tugs Shiro’s hand down. “Ok, ok.”

Keith rolls over, facing Shiro’s chest and nuzzling closer. Warm puffs of air ghost across Shiro’s collarbone and dark hairs tickle his nose and throat, distracting him from sleep. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a soft smile, Shiro presses his nose into the ebony locks, inhaling the familiar scent of rosemary. He runs his fingers up and down Keith’s spine - a soothing motion that has Keith relaxing under his touch.

“I missed this – you … us,” Keith says softly, piercing the quiet.

Shiro hums in agreement, letting Keith have his chance to speak. While Keith collects his thoughts, teeth tugging restlessly at his lower lip, Shiro’s thumb rubs circles into the taut muscles of his shoulders.

“I thought I was used to being alone. Being on my own. But after meeting you … I started to hate it. Even just having you nearby – not even talking, just your presence … was comforting to me.”

“I know what you mean,” Shiro says gently, voice muffled by Keith’s hair.

A bitter huff slips past Keith’s lips. “It’s funny, after storming out on you I … I wasn’t stupid, I knew it would hurt but … god, I had no idea it would hurt so badly,” he says in a pained tone, pressing his forehead to Shiro’s collar.

Shiro’s heart clenches in sympathy. He knows exactly what Keith means. Every day apart felt like torture, exacerbated by the fact that each thought the other was in the wrong – with one too stubborn to apologize, and the other too afraid of rejection to come clean.

“Guess we both fucked up,” Shiro murmurs, gently stroking Keith’s hair.

“Some of us more than others,” Keith says remorsefully.

Shiro sighs, breath ruffling Keith’s hair. “I think we’ve done enough apologizing for one day.”

There’s a finality to his tone, not harsh, but firm. Reminding Keith that all is forgiven, and it’s for the best to move on.

“… Ok,” Keith murmurs.

As he settles against Shiro, the older man can’t help but notice how perfectly Keith molds to his side. Like two puzzle pieces, they fill each other’s gaps. Providing what the other lacks.

Shiro strokes Keith’s back distractedly as his mind wanders.

It’s too soon to say forever. Shiro isn’t that naïve. He has no idea what the next day will hold, let alone the next week, month or even year. But one thing he does know, is that whatever path life takes them down, he wants to stay by Keith’s side for as long as possible.

Whether or not Keith feels the same, is still up in the air.

With his hand at Keith’s waist, Shiro can feel the gentle expanding and contracting of his ribs – the steady, even breath of a man drifting to sleep.

Now that everything has been cleared up, a thought that had waited patiently since their very first kiss begins to blossom in his chest, crawling up his throat before bursting into full bloom on his tongue, petals prying his lips apart.

“What are we?” He hastily blurts out before courage can fail him.

Not exactly subtle, but it’s a start.

“Weirdos,” Keith mumbles sleepily, nuzzling closer.

Shiro chuckles. “No, I mean –” A warm blush spreads over his cheeks as he formulates his sentence. “What are we … to each other?”

Keith looks up at Shiro, confusion etched across his face. “I don’t follow.”

Shiro’s eyes nervously dart away. Maybe now isn’t not the best time to have this conversation, but he has to know.

“I mean how do you see me – _us_? Are we lovers? … Boyfriends?”

The last one leaves a pleasant, tingly feeling in Shiro chest and his flush darkens.

“ _Lovers_? Really? How many romance novels do you read?” Keith chuckles affectionately, causing Shiro to pout.

His gaze drops from Shiro’s face, and a delicate shade of pink dusts his cheeks.

“Boyfriends has a nice ring to it,” he admits and Shiro can feel him smiling into his chest. “I could live with that.”

“What, you don’t like lover?” Shiro teases.

Keith’s smile widens. “I don’t _mind_ lover.”

“Ok then. Goodnight Keith, my boyfriend, lover and best friend,” Shiro says, kissing the top of Keith’s head.

Keith chuckles lazily. “Goodnight Shiro, my boyfriend, lover, and best friend,” he says, kissing Shiro’s chin.

With that settled, Shiro begins to drift off, only to be awoken a few moments later by Keith whispering.

“Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

“You … you don’t think I’m crazy … do you?”

Shiro hums thoughtfully for a moment before answering, “No.”

“… I don’t like that you had to think about it first,” Keith mutters and Shiro can feel his lips pursing into a pout.

A low rumbling laugh reverberates in Shiro’s chest and he presses a lingering kiss to Keith’s temple.

“Goodnight Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're back together! YAY! What am I talking about, it would take alien kidnappings, weird space magic and an intergalactic war to keep these two crazy kids apart. Ha ha ha ... ha ... (@dreamworks blease when will my son return from the war? He needs to be by his husband's side ur tearing me a p a r t) (;д;)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I still want to hear any theories y'all might have! There's still a lot more mystery to uncover and we're just getting started.


	33. Day 78 - Before Dawn

“Shiro … Shiro wake up,” a voice says, tight and urgent.

Through the haze of sleep Shiro recognizes the voice as Keith’s and he lurches forward, sitting up with a start.

“Wha- What is it? What’s wrong?” He slurs, half conscious and buzzing with the sudden rush adrenaline.  
  
He blinks owlishly as one of Keith’s contraptions as it’s shoved into his face - a wave receiver, Keith had called it. Apparently, Akira cobbled the device together using an old car radio, a pair of lantern batteries, and a frying pan. Shiro can’t help but applaud the man’s ingenuity.

“Listen,” Keith urges.

Shiro reaches for the headphones dangling from Keith’s wrist, slipping them over his ears. Through the crackle of static, he can make out the sound of two voices - too faint to pick up what they’re saying, but enough to set Shiro on edge.

“Is that -”

He’s cut off when his shorts hit him square in the face, followed shortly by his shirt and socks. As Shiro tugs at the clothes unceremoniously draped over his head, he notices that Keith is already dressed and packed.

“C’mon,” Keith says as he picks up Shiro’s prosthetic. “If one of those voices is our mysterious hiker, we should check it out.”

The mattress bounces when he plops down beside Shiro, holding the limb up with urgency. Shiro nods in agreement and slips his arm into the prosthetic’s sleeve while Keith carefully helps secure the straps.

“Should we take the radio?” Shiro asks, nodding at the aforementioned device.

Keith bites his lips and frowns. “I guess it would be useful if we fall in a ravine or something,” he says, plucking the radio from its charger.

“Just make sure it’s off,” Shiro says as he slips the final button through its hole. “I don’t want Lance or Allura calling me while we’re out there. It kinda ruins the element of surprise.”

Keith nods in agreement and clips the radio to his belt. As Shiro laces up his boots, his gaze falls on the magnum and holster sitting on the bedside table. His brows knit together tightly. After a moment of hesitation, he takes a deep breath and attaches the holster to his belt, ignoring the daunting weight of the gun as he slips it inside.

Sensing Shiro’s apprehension, Keith claps a hand on his shoulder, eyeing him with concern. “Hey, you gonna be ok?”

Shiro nods and smiles, albeit tightly. Before Keith can make a fuss, Shiro leads the charge and the pair step into the darkness, armed only with a wave receiver, two guns, and moxie. Fortunately, the broad branches of the towering trees provide cover from both the fading moonlight and slowly encroaching dawn. Shiro flicks on his flashlight only for Keith to stop him.

“We don’t want to be seen,” Keith says, pulling a pair of night vision goggles out of his pack.  
  
“Where the _hell_ did you dad this stuff?” Shiro whispers loudly.  
  
“Army surplus,” Keith shrugs, returning his attention the wave receiver as he walks forward.

“Wait, what about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Keith says, tapping his temple, “Better-than-average night vision. Remember?”

Begrudgingly, pulls the goggles over his head, muttering, “You and your _better-than-average night vision_.”

Keith just chuckles, leading the way while Shiro scans their surroundings for danger. A combination of anticipation and apprehension hangs over them like an impending storm. It all feels too soon. Too rushed. After all, he only found out about this whole conspiracy yesterday. It’s hardly enough time to process, let alone plan. But, there’s too much at stake to just turn tail and run. Besides, judging by the flecks of ash drifting through the air, they don’t have much time.

As Keith looks down to adjust the volume, he’s nearly clotheslined when Shiro’s arm swings out in front of him. He shoots the older man a wide-eyed, bewildered look.

“Look,” Shiro whispers.

He directs Keith’s attention toward the large figure lumbering through the trees in the distance, their flashlight flickering through the foliage.

Not exactly subtle.

With their quarry in sight, Keith exchanges the wave receiver with the shotgun. Frowning, Shiro places his hand on the barrel, earning an indignant glare.

“Only if necessary,” Shiro reminds him.

“Define ‘ _necessary’_ ,” Keith says petulantly.

“Only if it’s us or them.”

Keith complies in the form of a begrudging huff and Shiro’s gaze returns to the hiker, eyes narrowing.

“Let’s follow them for a while. See what they’re up to.”

They follow cautiously, choosing to watch and wait before confronting their target. It’s not long before Shiro is close enough to make out the general shape of the hiker. He’s big. About as tall as Shiro, but nearly twice as wide, though Shiro’s confident he could take him out if needed.

However, there’s nothing about his demeanor that suggests that would be necessary. The man scans his light through the woods in a nervous, twitchy way, anxiously shifting from foot to foot.

Maybe they’re barking up the wrong tree.

Beside him, Keith inches closer and Shiro’s heart seizes as the harsh snap of a branch pierces the quiet. The large man swings around, holding a frying pan out at arm’s length.

“W-who’s there?”

Sick of hiding, Keith jumps to his feet and Shiro slowly does the same, holding his hands up in a placating manner. No need for things to escalate.

“S-stay back!” The man stutters. “I have a skillet!”

Unintimidated, Keith simply pumps his rifle and glowers in response.

_So much for diplomacy._

The color drains from the stranger’s face, and he drops the kitchenware with a clatter.

“OH GOD PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!”

Shiro quickly shoves the barrel down, earning a glare from Keith.

“Nobody’s shooting anybody,” he says firmly, shooting Keith a stern look as he removes his goggles.

“Shiro?”

He freezes at the sound of the familiar voice. “… Lance?”

A tan, lanky young man pops his head through the bushes, face brightening. “SHIRO!”

Lance rushes toward him, only to stiffen at the sight of Keith’s gun pointing right at him.

“YOU!” He shouts, ducking behind the hulking frame of the stranger. “I knew you were trouble! I knew it!” He hisses. “Shiro, what are you doing canoodling with this _weirdo_?” He squints accusingly.

“Uh … do you mean _conspiring_?” His cohort whispers.

“That too!”

“Well what are _you_ doing out here?” Keith says, glaring when Shiro shoves the gun barrel down again.

“I asked you first!”

“ _SO_?!”

“Stop it!” Shiro and the other man shout in unison.

“Lance …what are you doing out here? Who is this?” Shiro says, shooting the large man a wary glance.

“Well, this is Hunk,” Lance begins, jerking his thumb in the direction of Hunk who waves shyly, “And we were out here looking for _him_ ,” He points an accusatory finger at Keith who just smacks his hand aside with the shotgun barrel, eyes narrowing.

Once again, Shiro pushes the barrel down and asks, “What – Why?”

“Hunk here has been seeing him hanging around the fence and cave. You know, places he _isn’t supposed to be_ ,” Lance says before turning to Shiro with a frown, more disappointed than angry. “You said you scared him off. Why’d you lie?”

Keith’s pleading expression flashes through Shiro’s mind as he thinks back to their first real meeting. Even now, he feels a swell of sympathy for the man, especially now that he knows the cause of his desperation.

He looks at Keith, mouth curving into a fond smile.

“He was _very_ persuasive,” Shiro says, noting the amused twitch of Keith’s lips.

Lance just glowers, unmoved by their comradery. “That still doesn’t explain why he was sneaking around the Holt’s campsite – their _empty_ campsite I might add.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Oh yeah … forgot to mention that,” Keith mumbles.

“By the time Hunk and I got there all that stuff you mentioned was _gone_ – and _he_ took it!”

“No I didn’t!” Keith snaps before turning to Shiro almost pleadingly. “I went back to check on the campsite after you and I left because I thought I could figure out what they were doing before they were taken, but the stuff was gone before I arrived.”

“I believe you,” Shiro says soothingly, placing his hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“Well _I_ don’t,” Lance huffs. “And what do you mean by ‘ _taken’_?”

Keith’s eyes return to Lance, narrowing as he grips his gun tighter. “People have been going missing for years, and it’s not bears or accidents, _someone_ or _something_ is taking them.”

“Some- _thing_?” Hunk repeats, turning a little pale. “The same thing that’s been making those weird knocking sounds?”

“I told you, it’s just woodpeckers,” Lance says coolly.

“It’s not woodpeckers!” Keith snaps.

“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, I believe you – which I _don’t_ ,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest, “But if I did, who the hell do think could be taking them?”  
  
“The government,” Keith says with a confidence that Shiro would find admirable in just about any other situation.

As things stand, Keith could not have picked a worse audience.

With narrowed eyes, Lance slowly shakes his head in disbelief and whispers, “You have lost your marbles.”

Squaring his shoulders, Keith takes a step forward, only to be stopped by Shiro who grabs him by the bicep.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro says warningly, tugging him back.

Lance’s eyes widen as he shoots Shiro an appalled look. “Wait, Keith … _KEITH_?!”

Cocking a brow, Shiro turns to him with a perplexed expression, while Keith just glowers.

“This guy is the _KEITH_ FIRE?!”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up and Shiro’s face burns. Keith turns to Shiro, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You named a fire after me?”

Beet red, Shiro looks away and coughs into his fist. “I-I think we’re getting off topic …” he stutters before growing suddenly serious. “The point is, people are going missing, the Holts, Devall –”

“Shiro,” Lance interrupts, “People go missing in the woods all the time. It’s just a thing that happens. As for that Devall guy - apparently, he was found wandering around drunk and got into a fight with a ranger. He’s been in jail. Not dead or murdered or whatever the hell you think is going on.”

“What about the Holt’s?” Keith counters, “Your boss said they left when they _very clearly did not._ How do you explain that?”

“Well maybe the Holt’s were the ones who lied!” Lance argues.

“No Lance,” Shiro says, “Allura and Coran are definitely involved. We have proof.”

“What proof?” Lance scoffs before gesturing at Keith, “This guy’s obviously certifiable, how can you trust him?”

Shiro quickly summarizes what Keith had told him the day before, strategically leaving out the parts about aliens. His explanation seems to convince Lance whose guarded posture slowly grows laxer with each word.

By the time Shiro has finished, Lance’s gaze has drifted from Shiro’s face to the ground and he morosely kicks at a pebble. Behind him, Hunk claps a hand on his shoulder. Lance looks up at the other man who gives him a nod.

Taking a deep breath, Lance sighs. “Okay … I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Shiro smiles. He knows how hard this is for Lance, who has done nothing but sing Allura’s praises since the day they met.

Keith still eyes Lance suspiciously but takes a more relaxed posture, letting the shotgun hang at his side.

“Not exactly the epic showdown I was hoping for,” he grumbles, clearly disappointed with their anticlimactic encounter.

“Well, at least we know who our mystery hiker is. That narrows things down a bit,” Shiro says, turning to Hunk whose eyes widen.

“Wha- you don’t mean _me_ , do you?” He asks, pointing at himself.

“… Yes?” Shiro says warily. “Are you saying that it _wasn’t_ you?”

Both hunk and Lance shake their heads. “We thought it was one of you.”

The men look at each other uneasily.

“So that means … someone else is still out there,” Keith says ominously.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro drags his fingers across his mouth, furrowed brows carving crease into his forehead. The heavy scent of smoke hangs in the air, scratching at the back of his throat.

 “Whatever we’re going to do we’ll have to do it fast. Coran said we might have to evacuate soon.”

“Yeah, we’ve been getting reports of possible high winds blowing through the area,” Lance adds.

Shiro frowns. “We should split up. We’ll cover more ground that way. Two of us can look for this mystery person while the other two check out the cave.”

Lance arches a thin eyebrow. “The cave? Why?”

“I’ve seen maps of the cave system,” Keith says. “It’s not big enough for a search party of 20 people to _disappear_ into thin air. And nobody just _loses_ keys to something like that without bothering to replace them. I think something is down there, and they don’t want anyone finding it.”

“Like what?” Hunk asks cautiously.

“Oh, so many things,” Lance mutters, rolling his eyes.

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro says warningly.

Hunk politely raises his hand. “How are we supposed to find one guy in the middle of _acres_ of woods?”

“According to Keith, they’ve been out every night for the past week, so I think there’s a good chance of us catching them,” Shiro says and Keith nods.

“Besides the wood-knocking they’ve also been sending out radio signals,” Keith adds, digging through his pack. “You should be able to track them using this –”

“Oh, a wave receiver!” Hunk lights up and plucks the device out of Keith’s hand, examining it with bright-eyed enthusiasm. “I haven’t seen this level of MacGyvering since, well … MacGyver.”

“Hunk, since you seem to know how to use this, I think you and I should be the ones to look for the hiker,” Shiro says.

“But that leaves me with mullet-head!” Lance whines.

“Mullet?” Keith mumbles, running a hand through his hair with a pout.

Ignoring Keith’s distress, Lance continues, “Shiro, why don’t I go with Hunk and you and Keith check out the caves?”

“Uh, well –” Shiro begins haltingly, only for Keith to swoop in and save him the awkward explanation.

“Because _your_ skinny ass will be able to maneuver through the cave better than either of _theirs_ ,” Keith says matter-of-factly, jerking his thumb at the two large men. ~~~~

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Lance relents with a huff before turning to his companion. “Sorry big guy,” he says, giving Hunk’s stomach a friendly pat, “I guess you’re just too much man for that cave to handle.”

Hunk rocks his head in an amusingly solemn nod of understanding and Shiro shoots Keith a grateful smile. Despite all the progress he’s made, he’s not sure if he’s ready for deep cave exploration under such tense circumstances **.**

“Now that that’s settled,” Shiro says, turning to Hunk, “It sounds like you and I should get moving.”

Hunk nods with a hint of apprehension but hides his nerves well. Lance gives him a firm pat on the back, followed by a few words of encouragement.

While Lance and Hunk are occupied with their goodbyes, Shiro turns to Keith with a gentle smile and gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to press a parting kiss to the other man’s temple. 

“I will,” Keith says, severe features softening into something fond.

As usual, they find themselves falling into each other’s orbit only to hastily part when they remember their audience. While Hunk stares with thinly veiled interest, Lance regards them with narrowed eyes.

“Are we doing this or not?” Lance grouses.

“Just try to keep up,” Keith huffs, setting off toward the cave, followed by a rather irate Lance.

And with that, the two pairs set off to their respective destinations, with neither party knowing what to expect nor expecting what they are about to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was going to show what happened over the course of the whole day (like every other chapter), but I think it’s more dramatic to have it split into sections, so this is part one of five.
> 
> Also, YAY! Hunk! He's finally here!
> 
> Keep throwing out theories! They haven't solved anything yet.


	34. Day 78 - Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Keith POV so we finally get to see what's goin on in that head of his.

“So, what’s your genius plan for getting us in?” Lance huffs, looming over Keith as he kneels in front of the keyhole of the cave gate.

After a brief examination, Keith whips out a small, leather bound pouch from his jacket’s inner pocket and waves it smugly. Peeling back the flaps, he reveals a row of thin metal picks.

“Hold the light steady,” he says, carefully sliding the needles in and out, producing a faint clicking sounds.

Lance leans over Keith as he works, mesmerized. “How do you know how to do that?”

“The fruits of a misspent youth,” Keith smirks.

“You did this kinda stuff a lot then – wait, doesn’t that make you a criminal?”

“Doesn’t count if they don’t catch you.”

The lock releases with a satisfying _clack_ and a pleased grin stretches across Keith’s face.

“Alright step aside, looks before crooks,” Lance says, brusquely pushes past Keith who topples to the side with a look of shock and irritation.

Scowling, Keith scrambles to his feet and roughly grabs Lance’s shoulder, spinning him around.

“Hey! What the hell is your –”

His tirade is cut short as a horrible slam echoes around them. The pair’s attention jerks back toward the now closed door, stomachs sinking as they run towards it. Lance grips the rusted bars of the gate, shaking it roughly.

Unfortunately, he only manages to loosen the sign on the other side. It falls with a resounding clatter, its warning of _‘Cave Closed’_ cruelly mocking them.

“Shit!” Lance spits before spinning around to his disgruntled companion. “Keith, do your thing!” He gestures wildly at the lock.

“I can’t …” Keith mumbles, realization slowly dawning, “The picks are on the other side.”

Lance whirls around and tries to poke his long, thin fingers through the wire grate surrounding the lock to no avail.

“Fucking great.” Keith’s head falls against the door, causing it to rattle.

Undeterred, Lance unclips his radio. “Heeeey Shiro? Hunk? Teeny Problem. You see, uh … Keith got us locked in.”

The aforementioned man whips his head around to shoot Lance an indignant glare.

Lance turns away from him and continues, “Could you come get us out?”

“…”

“Hunk? You there buddy?”

“…”

“Shiro?”

“…”

“Heeeellooooooooo–”

“Would you shut up!” Keith snaps. “The rock’s too thick for any signals to get out. We’re on our own.”

Taking a few steps back, Keith throws himself bodily against the gate, causing a muted clang to reverberate through the cavern. A dull ache radiates from his shoulder as he backs away with a hiss, kneading at the sore flesh.

“Good job,” Lance scoffs.

“You got any better ideas?”

“I do actually,” Lance huffs before taking a deep breath. “HELP!!!!” He shouts through cupped hands.

“Oh give it a rest, there’s no one around. We might as well start exploring. That’s what we’re here for anyway,” Keith says, turning away from the door.

A few feet dead ahead of the gate is a long drop and Keith peers over the edge, joined shortly by Lance. After scanning their surroundings, Keith pulls and anchor from his pack and aggressively drives it into a crack in a nearby boulder. The heavy clash of metal meeting rock rings through the cave, rattling Keith’s bones. He attaches a thick length of rope and gives it a few sharp tugs before swiftly rappelling down.

Above him, Lance shouts, “Hey! Wait for me!”

While Lance slowly and carefully abseils down Keith taps his foot in annoyance.

“Haven’t you ever gone climbing before? Or is incompetence a desired trait in lookouts?”

“I’ll have you know I am a _very_ skilled outdoorsman,” Lance quips over his shoulder.

Keith raises an eyebrow skeptically and folds his arms across his chest. “Oh really?”

“In fact,” Lance drops down at last, kicking up some dust, “ _I_ was in the boy scouts!” He proudly thumbs at his puffed chest.

“Lucky you,” Keith says dryly before heading further into the cave. “You didn’t get a spelunking badge by any chance?” Keith grunts as he squeezes through a rather narrow passage.

“There is no spelunking badge,” Lance retorts.

“Too bad. Could’ve come in handy. What about unarmed combat?”

“That’s not a badge either.”

Keith frowns. “Well, if we get attacked by bears or Bigfoot you could always try selling them thin mints. Everyone loves thin mints.”

“That’s the Girl Scouts!”

The minutes pass in tense silence, punctuated only by the pair’s echoing footsteps and occasional grunts as they carefully descend steep drops, duck under low ceilings, and slowly squeeze through some of the narrower passages.

“… Soooooo,” Lance purses his lips thoughtfully and Keith eyes him with suspicion, “What’s up with you and Shiro?”

Keith tenses.

In his experience, questions like that never go anywhere well – usually starting with whispers in crowed halls and ending with broken bones and bloody noses. He’s no stranger to such encounters. He knows how to drown out the jeers and bandage bruises. The real question is: does Shiro?

The very thought makes his stomach lurch and a protective rush pulses through him.

“It’s none of your business,” he says tersely.

 “I’m making it my business.”

Keith bristles at Lance’s arrogant tone.

“What gives you the right to go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” He snaps.

“Hey! I think I have a right to know who my friends hang out with!”

“Friends?” Keith scoffs, “You barely even know him.”

“I do too! Ask me anything - anything at all,” Lance stops in the middle of the passageway, arms folded tightly across his chest and competitive gleam in his eyes.

Keith mirrors his aggressive posture, eyes narrowing. “Alright. What does he do for a living?”

Lance chuckles confidently. “Are all these gonna be so easy?

“This isn’t fucking Jeopardy,” Keith grits his teeth, hating himself for giving into Lance’s shenanigans.

“He’s a writer.”

“Hobbies?”

“Oh! Crosswords!” Lance says excitedly.

“Favorite color?”

Lance blinks. “Uh … blue?”

“Wrong. Favorite music genre?”

“Ummm … Rock?”

“Wrong again,” Keith says with a hint of smugness.

“Whatever,” Lance huffs tetchily. “Friendship isn’t about knowing that superficial stuff. It’s about knowing someone’s _soul_.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “ _Right_ ,” he scoffs, turning on his heel and continuing down the passage.

“Alright, my turn,” Lance says, quickly catching up to Keith. “What are you two gonna do after the summer is over?”

Keith blinks. “What?”

“Well, it’s obvious you two have gotten pretty close. You must have _some_ kind of plan.”

“I … I don’t know,” Keith stutters, quickening his pace, as if he can simply walk away from the question.

It's not like he hadn't thought about it - of course he had. But the idea that he and Shiro could ever hope to have some sort of future together seemed so abstract to him that he never really considered the possibilities. After all, everyone leaves him eventually. His father. Thace. Why should Shiro be any different?

Lance frowns, dissatisfied with Keith’s halfhearted answer.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean: _I. Don’t. Know_.” Keith snaps as Lance continues to wear down what little patience Keith has for the man.

Lance’s eyes narrow. “You’re not just using him, are you?”

Ah. There it is. The last straw.

Keith whirls around, eyes ablaze **.**

“What is your problem?! You’ve had a grudge against me since the moment we met! Why?”

“Oh, don’t know, maybe the fact that you set off those fireworks –”

“That _wasn’t_ me!”

“– Broke into Shiro’s tower, tried to break into the fence, and just been all-around suspicious,” Lance says, dramatically counting Keith’s apparent transgressions on his fingers.

“ _And_ , you’ve been prosecuting Allura –”

“You mean persecuting?”

“ _Whatever_!” Lance fumes, cheeks red. “You’re hell-bent on making Allura out to be some kind of a monster and she’s _not_!” So maybe I should be asking _you_ what _your_ problem is,” he says, punctuating the statement by giving Keith’s chest a rough shove.

Keith stumbles back, colliding with the wall. His eyes narrow dangerously and can feel his temper flare as Lance continues to poke and prod.

“What’s your beef with Allura anyway? And why do you have to drag Shiro into your mess -”

It’s a low blow - bringing up Shiro like that – and Keith grabs the collar of Lance’s shirt. His finger curl and twisting at the fabric as he slams Lance into the opposing wall. He’s hardly a challenge.

Lance opens his mouth to protest, but as he does so, the rock begins to buckle behind his back and beneath their feet.

Their eyes briefly meet, widening when they sink. The pair cry out as they fall, their shouts drowned out by the sound of crumbling stone.

Keith's eyes snap shut and he wraps his arms protectively around his head just before colliding with the ground. His teeth rattle and pain blooms across his body emanating from various sources. A few smaller rocks and pebbles rain down on them and Keith flinches with each impact, curling in on himself as he waits it out.

Once the rocky deluge ceases, Keith unfurls. Sitting up with a groan, he begins to check himself for injuries and Lance does the same, albeit with a lot more whining. Luckily, they didn’t fall far, and the worst they’ll walk away with it a few bruises and a story to tell.

Keith’s fingers brush along his cheekbone, wincing at the ache that greets his gentle prodding. He’ll have one hell of a shiner.

He stands with a groan, dusting himself off as he looks around. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on who you ask - the flashlight was dropped in their scuffle, undamaged, but out of reach. It provides just enough light for Keith to see through the opening they fell from. His brows furrow.

“Great, just great,” Lance gripes. “Now what are we gonna do?”

Undeterred, Keith digs through his pack, pulling out a pickaxe and length of rope that he fashions into a crude grappling hook.

“Oh, like that’ll work,” Lance mutters, leaning away nervously as the makeshift tool whooshes in circles beside him.

“You got a better idea?” Keith snaps, releasing it with a grunt.

The grappling hook arcs gracefully through the air, hitting the rock beside the opening with a sharp clang. Frowning, Keith retrieves the pickaxe, winding up again while Lance taps his foot irritably behind him. The second time he at least manages to get it through the hole but fails to get it to hook. After a few more failed attempts, Lance rolls his eyes and yanks it out of Keith’s hands.

“You’re not doing it right, let me try.”

Keith’s protests fall on deaf ears as Lance whirls the grappling hook over his head in a dramatic fashion and Keith backs away several feet, features twisted into a grimace.

Lance releases the hook with a triumphant yell. It streaks through the air, colliding with the unstable rock near the top of the opening, causing it to collapse further. Eyes wide, Keith grabs Lance by the collar, yanking him back as a few rocks tumble through the opening, snuffing out the light and with it, their only hope of escape.

Sitting in darkness, Keith’s heart hammers in his chest like a caged bird, slamming against his bruised ribs. Hands suddenly start patting at his face and he jerks away with a start.

“Keith? Is that you?” Lance asks, hands still flitting over Keith’s face and shoulders.

“Who else could it be?!” Keith snaps, grabbing Lance by the wrists and shoving him back.

“I can’t see anything!” Lance says, voice laced with panic.

With a huff, Keith reaches into his pocket, digging out an old lighter. Sparks burst, and the tiny flame flickers to life, nearly snuffed out by Lance’s sigh of relief.

Keith turns to him, flame reflecting ominously in his wild eyes as he says, slowly, “I’m going to kill you.”

“ME!? What did I do?!”

“You got us stuck down here you ass!”

“Hey, who threw who against that wall?”

While Keith wants nothing more than to just finish what he started and ring Lance’s skinny neck, he can hear Shiro’s voice saying his name in that warning tone.

_Keith …_

Sucking in a deep breath, Keith screws his eyes shut till he looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon.

_Patience yields focus._

With Shiro’s words of wisdom percolating in the back of his mind, he lets out a slow, measured exhale. He opens his eyes to see Lance staring at him like he’s a lion in a rickety cage. Keith closes his eyes again. It’ll be easier to talk if he doesn’t have to look at Lace’s stupid mug.

“Look, let’s just … focus on getting out of here ok?”

“Fine by me,” Lance huffs, tugging at his lapels.

Ignoring his aching limbs and the tension headache throbbing behind his temples, Keith leads the way, slowly navigating through the oppressive darkness. The silence settling between them is both a blessing and a curse, with Lance’s earlier words stirring up thoughts he wasn’t prepared to confront just yet.

_What are you two gonna do once summer is over?_

It’s same question he’d asked Shiro a month ago. But this time there’s a twist.

_You two._

There’s an assumption that they’ll stay together, or at least stay in contact.

Keith frowns, thoughts drifting.

When he’d arrived at the park he’d had a very specific, very simple plan: find his dad. Shiro kind of threw a wrench into that plan.

Despite all odds, Shiro had managed to breach Keith’s carefully constructed walls like an invasive vine, inserting himself into every crack and crevice, every weak point, filling in the seams before bursting into unexpected bloom.

That’s when Keith fell in love.

At first, he thought he could just get over it. That he was just feeling this way because Shiro was gentle and kind to him in a way few people were. That fact that he has the body of Adonis doesn't hurt.

_What are you gonna do once summer is over?_

He’d ask the question offhandedly, but he’d be lying if he said hadn’t felt a flicker of hope burning behind his ribcage, a desire for something – anything Shiro was willing to give him.

_I don’t know …_ _I hadn’t really thought about it._

The corner of Keith’s lips twitch into a sardonic smirk as he recalls Shiro’s lackluster response and his own equally vague reply.

_Promise me … that you’ll say goodbye._

At the time, he’d felt like a lost puppy. Nipping at Shiro’s heels. Whining for attention. Begging for a place in Shiro’s heart – in his life. A life that Keith had no business being a part of.

And so, he convinced himself that he would be satisfied with a simple face to face good-bye. Wouldn’t allow himself to even  _hope_  for anything more.

But now, everything’s changed.

_I won’t abandon you._

Keith’s whole body warms at the memory. At Shiro’s promise.

It never occurred to him that someone like Shiro would ever be in his life. Someone kind and gentle. Someone who would love him unconditionally. Someone who would stay by his side.

Funnily enough, it took losing Shiro to realize what he really wanted.

Maybe finding out what happened to his father will bring him peace of mind, but it will never bring him happiness. Not the kind Shiro gives him. Somehow, Shiro manages to dwarf all his problems and fears. They seem so insignificant in his presence.

In fact, he’s starting to wish he had Shiro by him now, protecting him from the chill penetrating his bones.

The thought of Shiro’s large, warm body enveloping him, pressing against him intimately makes Keith’s cheeks burn and he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. It’s funny how Shiro always manages to distract him, even in his own mind.

“Hey look! Light!” Lance shouts, invading Keith’s thoughts.

Sure enough, Keith can make out light in the distance and the pair all but bolt down the tunnel. Soon, the narrow passage widens into a large, open area where Keith sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. Lance slams into Keith’s ridged body, nearly causing him to tumble.  
  
“Dude what the –”

The words die on Lance’s tongue as he takes in the horrifying sight before them. Several yards ahead, illuminated almost mockingly, is a crumpled human form.

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes, cautiously following Keith as he approaches the figure.

As they draw nearer the scene only grows grislier. What’s left of the body is nothing more than bones, bleached white by the rays of light streaming through the opening above. Keith grimaces at the spectacle before him. The person’s head has been thoroughly crushed by several rocks, body twisting unnaturally.

“You fell …” Keith whispers somberly as he looks up through the shaft above them, a taunting reminder of freedom.

“Oh my god … I feel sick,” Lance says, cupping him mouth when Keith bends over the body and begins to inspect it.

Most of the corpse, save for the head, is covered in a bodysuit made of a thin, rough fabric. Though tattered and faded with age, it’s easy to see that the cloth was once a very dark violet.

As he examines the remains, Keith spies what appears to be some kind of collar under the rubble and delicately removes it, trying not to cause more damage to the already abused body. Once extracted, he carefully turns the object over in his hands. It’s composed of a smooth, dark gray material, harder and heavier than plastic, but not cold like metal. Keith runs his fingers over the thin, etched line that runs horizontally along the side before dipping into ports that mark opposite sides of the band. Right where the jugular vein would be.

He shudders. It was obviously designed to fit its wearer quite snugly. Uncomfortably so.

Having overcome his squeamishness, Lance squats down on other side of the body, looking it over with a grimace before carefully picking at it.

“Man, looks like the dude could _not_ catch a break, could he?” Lance mutters, fiddling with the skeleton’s lower half while Keith inspects the collar.  
  
“ _They_ ,” Keith replies coolly, “and what makes you say that?”

Lance says nothing, instead producing a prosthetic leg as his evidence of the poor soul’s bad luck.

Keith’s blood runs cold.

With shaky hands he takes the limb, slowly turning in over. Recognition burns a hole in his guts when his eyes fall on the childish scribbles defacing the scuffed surface.

A humorless laugh bubbles in Keith’s chest, clawing its way up his throat, prying apart trembling lips.

“Heh … heheheh.”

Lance flinches at both the disconcerting sound and the wild look in Keith’s eyes. Backing away slowly, he raises his hands in a placating manner.

“Uh, dude? You’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“H-he was dead! … This whole time!” Keith wheezes between hoarse, mirthless chuckles.  
  
“What are you talking about? What’s going on? Who is he?!” Lance shouts, frantically looking back and forth between the body and Keith.  
  
“He’s my dad - my _dead_ dad!” His laugher turns shaky and weak as the prosthetic slips from his grasp, hitting the ground with an echoing clatter.

His hands slowly cover his face before sliding back to tug at his hair. He barely feels the pain spreading across his scalp as trembling fingers twist at the dark strands till they’re pull taut, straining.

“A-are you okay?” Lance reaches a hand out cautiously.  
  
“NO! I’m not FUCKING OKAY!” Keith finally snaps.

He can feel hot tears spilling down his cheeks but is helpless to stop them as he backs against the cave wall and slowly slides down.

Honestly, the worst part isn’t finding his father _here_ of all places. It’s not even finding him like _this_ – a mangled, twisted mess.

No, the worst part is how relieved he feels. 

It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Pain and relief flooding the senses all at once. It’s awful and overwhelming and Keithhas no choice but to cower in the face of such an onslaught.

So he sits. And he trembles. _Trembles_. Like a lost child. It’s a pathetic display, and he hates himself for it. He hates his weakness. His breathing comes and goes in wheezy gasps, lungs constricting with panic. The sensation is surprisingly familiar. Almost nostalgic.

The last time he’d had a panic attack was at school. He can’t remember what it was about, probably some test, but he distinctly recalls sitting on the stairs with Thace’s low, soothing voice talking him down. What did he say again?

_Ah, right._

_Breathe._

He sucks in a jerky breath through his nose and the tightness of his chest eases slightly. Next, he focuses on exhaling, letting the air whistle past his lips as slowly and controlled as possible.

Suddenly, Lance’s arms are wrapping around him, eyes squeezing shut as he presses his cheek to Keith’s shoulder. Keith instantly goes rigid. Every nerve in his body screaming like it’s been set on fire. Lance’s touch, while well-meaning, is like sandpaper, dragging across hypersensitive skin, rubbing Keith raw.

Keith curls in on himself, struggling to maintain control over his already his shaky breathing. He can feel a scream crawling up his throat, pressing against the roof of his mouth.

But before it can emerge, Lance begins to speak.

“Ok so … a couple months before I took this job I was with this girl - Nyma. She was beautiful. Tall. Blonde. Laughed at my jokes,” he sighs, making Keith flinch when his breath hits his shoulder. “I was infatuated. I was sure I was gonna marry her. Then one day, I wake up to find she’s run off with some guy and took my car. It was a baby blue corvette. I was devastated. When people started asking about her I lied and told them that _I_ dumped _her_. I said she was too clingy and that I needed my space. I came out here saying I just needed some _'me time'_. I lied … I came out here to run away.”

After a beat of silence Lance asks, “How am I doing?”

“I would have preferred Shiro,” Keith rasps, earning a disgruntled huff from Lance.

Despite the unsolicited embrace, Keith manages to overcome his initial panic, distracted by Lance’s tale of woe. He closes eyes again, focusing on the sensations around him.

He pretends the gangly arms embracing him are Shiro’s - thick and strong, but also gentle. He imagines Shiro’s head tucked next to his, lips pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple as he whisper sweet, reassuring words.

_That’s right, just breathe._

_I’ve got you buddy._

_I won’t let you go._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Keith releases a shuddering sigh as the worst of the tension slowly ebbs away.

 “… Shiro’s bigger than you,” he whispers hoarsely.

“I know.”

“With thicker arms.”

“… I know.”

“And nice pec–”

“Ok! Are you done? Can I let go now?” Lance pouts, face still plastered to Keith’s shoulder.

With that, Keith smacks Lance’s arms away, but the action lacks the bite it would normally have. He stands on wobbly legs, straightening his jacket before scrubbing his hands over his face.  
  
“So, uh … what should we do about … well …” Lance rubs his arm and looks at the body anxiously.  
  
After taking a deep breath, Keith strides over, jaw set, fists clenched. Bending down, he begins to arrange the smaller stones around his father’s body, slowly covering him. Another set of hands join his and he looks to the side. Lance offers him a small, sympathetic smile and gently places a rock among the others. While Keith mentally appreciates the gesture, he can’t bring himself to actually _feel_ gratitude for it. He’s gone numb.

It’s almost funny. He’s buried his father so many times that it doesn’t even feel real.

Once the last stone is placed, Lance rises to his feet and dusts off his knees.

“I’ll … I’ll give you a moment,” he says quietly.

His footfalls echo softly as he walks a few yards away, loitering by the yet unexplored tunnel ahead of them.

With a sigh, Keith’s finger dip beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out the golden chain and the ring hanging from it. The band glints in the sunlight as it rolls around in his palm. Closing his eyes, he squeezes his fingers around the ring, nails biting into tender flesh. The tiny letters brand his skin as his hand trembles, knuckles turning white. Fresh tears slip down his cheeks, but this time, he lets them fall. Lets himself feel relief and pain and sadness as they wash over him like ocean waves.

Gently, he places the ring on the makeshift grave.

“No more secrets,” he murmurs softly.

As Keith slowly rises to his feet, his gaze falls on the collar. His stomach roils at the thought of his father wearing it, having god knows what done to him. Eyes snapping shut, he shakes his head. These morbid thoughts won’t do anybody any good. Not now at least.

After sliding the collar into his pack, he joins Lance who is staring down the dark, narrow passage. Stalactites and stalagmites protrude from the ceiling and floor, like the maw of a great beast just waiting to devour them.

“Do we like … keep going?” Lance asks, sparing Keith a concerned glance.

Keith frowns. “Whatever’s in there, we can’t handle it on our own.”                                                                                   

Above them, the wind whistles faintly, drawing their attention to the steep climb. Keith’s gaze trails up the jagged rocks, brows furrowed and drawn low over his eyes.

“We gotta get out of here.”

With that said, the pair slowly begin the treacherous ascent. Every crumbling rock and wobbly stone sends Keith’s heart into his throat as they inch their way to the top. Just when he’s beginning to feel confident, a particularly loose section begins to give way – with Keith standing right on it. Dread sinks its teeth into his heart and he’s about to cry out when a hand grabs him by the bicep, yanking him to safety.  
  
“Thanks,” Keith pants, watching as the stones clatter to ground.

Lance grins cheekily. “Not bad for a shitty boy scout.”

Keith weakly chuckles, more air than sound. “You’ll get your spelunking badge yet.”

While Keith catches his breath, Lance looks up at the rays of sunlight filtering through the opening above them.

“I wonder if Hunk and Shiro are having any luck,” he muses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least Keith finally got some closure, poor guy. :'(
> 
> Ya'll can now check off 'human experiments' on your bingo card.


	35. Day 78 - noon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was late (and short)! I got swamped with work and had some mental health stuff to deal with, and I wanted to make sure this was properly edited before I posted it. OTL
> 
> But better late than never right?
> 
> Also there's some Hance in this chapter so if that's not your cup of tea just skip the 6 sentences after Hunk says 'He's not the love expert he claims to be.'

“And that why we call hotdogs – _hotdogs_.”

“That’s uh … very interesting Hunk.”

Hunk smiles proudly, stepping on yet another branch. Shiro winces.

“Hunk, we need to be quiet,” Shiro reminds him with a hint of exasperation.

“I can do quiet. Listen to how quiet I am!” Hunk says, and proceeds to crouch close to the ground, shuffling noisily through the grass and foliage.

Shiro sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing his scar. “Nevermind. It’s getting too bright to get the drop on them anyway, they’d see us from a mile away.”

Hunk’s head pops up amid the undergrowth and he blinks owlishly. “Oh. Ok.”

Shaking his head, Shiro takes a step forward, only to be stopped by a sharp slap to his face. He staggers back, blinking wide-eyed as he looks around wildly, seeing nothing.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was that what?”

“What was that – _what_?”

Hunk just stares at him owlishly and Shiro shakes his head. It was probably just a branch.

“Nevermind. Let’s just – FUCK!” Shiro curses, hands flying to his face as he is once again assaulted by an unseen force.

Concerned, Hunk begins to walk toward Shiro, reeling when he too is struck.

“We’re under attack!” He cries, running forward only to be hit yet again, toppling to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Wait -” Shiro grabs Hunk by the shoulder before he can run off, “Do that again.”

Rubbing his still sore nose, Hunk reluctantly complies, features screwing in anticipation. Luckily, Shiro saves him at the last possible second and is greeted by what looks like an oversized fly swatter.

Hunk gasps, eyes narrowing. “Booby traps!”

“At least we know we’re on the right track,” Shiro says, snapping the neck of the trap and tossing it aside.

Hunk huffs, tentatively stepping a few paces forward. “Hopefully there won’t be any m–”

Suddenly, Hunk’s feet and head trade places and he bobs in the air, arms flailing wildly as he cries out. Shiro momentarily staggers back in shock, eyes wide. While Hunk struggles, Shiro reaches out, trying his best to calm the other man.

“Hunk … HUNK!”

He grabs the Hunk’s thrashing arms and spins him till they’re face-to-face. Or face to chest in this case.

“Hunk, it’s just a snare,” Shiro says calmly, looking into Hunk’s wide eyes. “Now I’m gonna get you down, but I need you to say calm and not move ok?”

Hunk nods.

“Good.”

Pulling out a pocket knife, Shiro follows the line and begins to carve into it, threads splaying in all directions.

“Almost done.”

Unfortunately, Hunk interprets that to mean _‘please jerk your leg really hard’_. The smooth rope slips from Shiro’s grasp, causing Hunk to tumble to the ground with a painful thud. Shiro winces in sympathy.

“You ok?” He asks, eyeing Hunk with concern.

 Hunk sits up with a low groan, pulling the wave receiver out from under him. The frying pan dangles from wires clutched in Hunk’s right hand while the now disconnected radio is held in his left. Wide, brown eyes dart from the device to Shiro’s paling face.

“I can fix this.”

Grimacing, Shiro arches an eyebrow.

“Can you?” He asks with a hint of incredulity.

Hunk nods vigorously and begins to remove the casing on the back of the radio. As Hunk peers inside, Shiro plops down beside him with a resigned sigh, watching the other man as he works. After donning the headphones, Hunk carefully traces the paths of the internal wires and prepares to reconnect the batteries.

He inhales deeply, turns to Shiro and says, “Well … cross your fingers.”

Shiro frowns. “Why?”

“Because if I hook these up wrong, the voltage will fry the whole thing.”

Shiro’s eyes widen and does as he’s told, watching with bated breath as Hunk reconnects the batteries. Static pops noisily through the headphones and a shared sigh of relief whooshes past their lips.

With that solved, Hunk starts working on the wires dangling limply from the frying pan, connecting them to random plugs

“Hey, can you talk into the radio for me? I need to test this thing.”

Shiro unclips the radio from his belt, switching over to an unused channel before asking, “What do I say?”

“I dunno … recite Shakespeare? Sing showtunes?” Hunk offers with a shrug. “It just has to be transmitting something for me to pick up.”

Shiro purses his lip in contemplation, thumb rubbing across the button before pressing down.

“How do you know how to do this?” He asks, nodding at the device in Hunk’s apparently capable hands.

“Well, I was going to school to be an engineer for a while, but my real passion lies in cooking – that’s how Lance and I met.”

“Oh?”

“I was grilling some trout to go with my blackberry reduction sauce when Lance comes along in his fancy uniform and polished boots, flashing that debonair smile ...”

Shiro arches an eyebrow at Hunk’s dreamy description.

“Anyway I – don’t tell anyone this, but … I kinda bribed him with dinner and it turned into a thing. I would feed him and he wouldn’t tell anyone I broke the rules.”

Shiro smirks. Looks like he wasn’t the only one with a secret.

“When I started seeing you and Keith hanging out together, he asked me to keep an eye on you.”

That would explain a lot. Although from what little Shiro’s seen, Hunk isn’t exactly what one would call _‘stealthy’_.

“How did I not notice you?”

“I sometime ask myself that,” Hunk chuckles. “To be fair you were both very … _preoccupied_.”

Shiro’s eyes go wide.

Suddenly, he’s faced with a dilemma. He’s never had to worry about people judging his relationships before, not that there were many.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of his feelings for Keith – hell, he would shout his love from the rooftops given half the chance. However, he is well aware that not everyone would view their relationship with open hearts and minds. He would never want Keith to experience any more judgement or rejection, especially from people who seem to have certain preconceived ideas of what he’s like.

“OH! Hey man, no judgment here,” Hunk says quickly when he notices Shiro’s unease. “I’m bi myself and I think Lance is too – oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that ...” he suddenly frets, features pulling into a frown.

Shiro chuckles, relieved and touched by Hunk’s concern.

He gives the other man’s shoulder a reassuring pat and says with a smile, “My lips are sealed.”

Shiro’s gaze returns to the device, mesmerized by the way Hunk's large hands tinker away with unexpected grace and ease.

“So … how much did you see?” Shiro asks, relieved that he never got a chance to fulfill some of his more exhibitionist fantasies with Keith.

“Just enough to tell Lance that you weren’t up to anything bad," Hunk says. "Not that I really convinced him.”

The mention of Lance has Shiro frowning. “He doesn’t seem to like Keith very much, does he?”

“I think he just wants to protect you.”

“Protect me? From Keith?”

Hunk nods. “I told him you two looked perfectly happy, but he didn’t believe me.”

The crease between Shiro’s bow deepens and the corners of his mouth pull down. His sudden silence causes Hunk to look up and wave his hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s probably just Jealous,” Hunk says casually.

Shiro turns to him and blinks. “Jealous?”

Hunk leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “Just between you and me, he’s not exactly the love expert he claims to be.”

With Lance's secret reveled, Hunk sits back and returns to his fiddling, features sagging into a morose scowl as he grumbles, “He seems to be more like the type who can’t see a good thing when it’s right under his nose.”

Shiro arches an eyebrow. “Like a certain engineer-turned-chef for example?”

Hunks movements fumble, cheeks darkening. “I – I don’t – What are you – Why, did he like, say anything about me or …”

Shiro can’t help but chuckle at Hunk’s obvious interest in the other man and he claps his hand on Hunk’s shoulder. Hunk turns to face him, apprehension and embarrassment coloring his already dark face.  
  
“My advice is: just go for it,” Shiro says. “If you don’t, you may find self with a lot of catching up to do.”

Hunk’s mortified expression morphs into surprise before softening into a smile.

“Blue lion to yellow lion, do you copy?”

“Speak of the devil,” Shiro says as Hunk unclips the walkie talkie from his belt.

“Yeah I’m here. Did you find anything?”

“Er … yeah, sorta …” There’s a hesitance to his voice that gives Shiro pause. “Look I’ll tell you in person. Where are you?”

Shiro pulls out his map and, after narrowing down their location, Hunk relays the information to Lance.

Frowning, Shiro turns to Hunk. “I wonder what _‘sorta’_ meant.”

Hunk just shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”


	36. Day 78 - Afternoon

By the time Lance and Keith find their way to Hunk and Shiro’s location the sun has already begun its decent, creeping steadily across the sky. Lance calls out an enthusiastic greeting, waving one hand while the other cradles his cheek. Trailing behind him is Keith, who is clutching his own face in a similar manner.

“We forget to tell them about the booby traps,” Hunk whispers with a grimace.

Shiro nods, face twisting in both sympathy and thinly veiled amusement.

As they approach, Hunk greets the pair happily. “Hey, you made it!”

Likewise, Shiro smiles at them in relief, only to falter when he notices Keith’s tired, red eyes and drooping posture. As Keith draws nearer, Shiro can also make out a large bruise forming on his cheek, one that couldn’t have possibly been made by the traps.

While Lance dives headfirst into a dramatic retelling of his and Keith’s exploits to Hunk, Shiro pulls Keith aside.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly.

“… I’ll tell you later.”

He sounds tired and his voice is a little raw.

Frowning, Shiro turns to Lance who is watching them out of the corner of his eye. When he catches Shiro’s severe expression he quickly looks away and continues his tale - something about him saving Keith from a cave-in.

Shiro lowers his voice and leans in. “Did Lance say something?”

“No, he was …. nice … for once,” Keith admits, giving him a weary smile.

Shiro smiles back, hand sliding up to knead at Keith’s tense neck. His fingers tangle in the soft mess of black waves, thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind Keith’s ear. Keith leans into the touch with sigh, closing his eyes.

“Hey love-birds,” Lance calls out, causing the pair to stiffen. “Not that you aren’t the most adorable thing ever, but don’t we have a mystery to solve?”

Clearing his throat, Shiro reluctantly pulls away and he and Keith rejoin the other two.

“Ok, so I got the wave receiver working again –”

“Again?” Keith frowns.

“Long story,” Shiro says.

“Don’t ask,” Hunk adds before continuing. “Anyway, the wave receiver has been going nuts for a while now so I’m pretty sure we’re close to their secret base or whatever you think is out there.”

“That’s good. Right?” Lance asks, eyes darting between the other men for confirmation.

“Is it though?” Hunk grimaces. “I mean, what are we gonna do once we get there?”

Keith gestures vaguely with his shotgun and shrugs. “Intimidation worked pretty well last time.”

“Well for once I’m on Keith’s side, I want payback!” Lance says, dramatically pounding his fist into his palm.

“Payback? For what?”

“For this!” Lance points to his face and the others squint, seeing nothing of consequence.

“They hurt my moneymaker, but more importantly – they hurt my friends!” Lance narrows his eyes and his voice grows dramatically low. “I want _blood_.”

The others stare at him, bewildered and wide-eyed.

“ _O–k_ … whatever Rambo,” Keith says.

They continue onward, taking care not to trigger traps, with marginal success. After a while, Hunk demands they take a break, citing that the pug-look doesn’t really work for him. As they rest, Lance fidgets and looks around, gaze falling on a suspicious length of rope dangling from the branches of a tree.

“Hey guys, I think I found another trap,” Lance says.

“Well, get away from it then,” Keith huffs.

Lance ignores him, eyes narrowing. “I think if you come from over there …”

“Lance, stop,” Shiro says sternly.

“And you tug on this rope …”

“Seriously dude, don’t touch anything,” Hunk groans.

“It’ll go – guys get over here, you’re standing right where it’s gonna go –”

“Lance I swear to god,” Keith growls.

“It’ll go – _whoosh_ – straight up.”

As the other three converge to stop him, Lance yanks on the cord and the four men are promptly scooped up. They cry out in unison, bodies colliding as thick netting tightens around them.

For a moment, they hang in shocked silence before Keith hisses, “I should have killed you in the cave.”

Unfortunately, threats tend to lose their bite when your face is smashed against your own knee, and he begins to wriggle with little success.

“I can’t reach my knife – can one of you?”

“Yeah,” Shiro grunts, shifting. “Just let me –”

Keith lets out a yelp, one higher pitched than Shiro ever thought him capable of.

“… That wasn’t my knife.”

“Oh my _goooooood_ ,” Lance groans, half muffled against Shiro’s back.

The only person not struggling is Hunk who remains surprisingly still.

“Uh, guys?”

“What?” Keith snaps.

“We’ve got company.”

As the trap slowly rotates, Shiro comes face-to-face with said company, who turns out to be a surprisingly familiar face.

“Pidge?!” Shiro gapes.

“Who are you?” Pidge demands, pointing his flashlight at them. “What are you doing here?”

“We could ask you to same thing,” Keith counters testily.

“What’s going on? Who is it? I can’t see anything!” Lance squawks, shuffling vainly.

Frowning, Pidge walks around the trap and shines his light at Lance.

“It’s a kid!” Lance gawks.

“I’m in college,” Pidge huffs. “Now tell me what you’re doing here!”

“Don’t tell him anything. Remember, you gotta be firm with children, show ‘em who’s boss,” Lance whispers loudly to the others.

Pidge growls. “If you don’t talk I’ll … I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Keith drawls.

“… I’ll poke you,” Pidge says, grabbing a stick and pointing it at them threateningly.

“Wait wha – OW!” Keith arches away as he’s jabbed between the ribs.

“Who are you?”

“OUCH!” Hunk yelps.

“What are you doing here?”

“Quit it!” Lance snaps.

“Where are my brother and father!”

Suddenly, it all clicks in Shiro’s brain.

“You’re Katie Holt!”

Pidge freezes. “What -”

“Your father is Samuel Holt and your brother is Matt. They came here over two months ago but went missing,” Shiro says quickly.

Pidge eyes him warily. “What happened to them?”

Shiro’s face falls. “I don’t know … but I do know they’re not the only ones. Trust me, we want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do.”

Pidge’s eyes dart across Shiro’s face, thick brows pressing together with reluctance.

“Please …” Shiro murmurs.

Wordlessly, Pidge walks away toward one of the nearby trees and releases the rope holding them up. They fall with a cry, collapsing into a tangled pile of limbs. With a cacophony of groans, the men detangle themselves.

“Sorry about that,” Pidge mumbles.

“No problem,” Keith grouses, rising to his feet.

“Follow me,” says Pidge, not bothering to wait for them.

Stumbling over themselves, the four men follow Pidge’s meandering path, no doubt evading traps in the process.

“So, Pidge – er … Katie –” ~~~~

“Call me Pidge,” he – she? – _they_ say.

“Pidge,” Shiro nods. “What is all this for anyway?”

“Precautions.”

“Precautions?” Lance echos. “Precautions for what?”

“So that I don’t get taken like my brother and father.”

“Taken? By who?” Lance frowns.

“By _whom_ ,” Hunk gently corrects him.

Pidge’s eyes narrow. “The Balmera Beast – it’s a kind of cryptid. You know, like Bigfoot?”

“Oh great, now we’ve got Bigfoot.”

Pidge shoots a withering glare in Lance’s direction and continues, “When I first arrived, I began broadcasting digital signals using a code my brother would recognize. When that didn’t work, I tried woodknocking in case they didn’t have access to their equipment. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten any response from my brother … or anything else for that matter.”

“Wait, how could these … _Beast_ things take them?” Hunk asks. “ _Why_ would they take them? They’re just big monkeys or something right?”

“Actually, their features have been described as more cat-like but that’s neither here nor there,” Pidge says, carefully navigating around one of the many traps littering the area. “There have been many reports of people who claim to have been abducted by Bigfoot in the past - Albert Ostman for example, so it’s not _too_ farfetched. Plus, there are multiple native legends about the Beast stealing people in the night.”

“Are you sure this isn’t all some big misunderstanding?” Hunk asks, brow pinching together. “Maybe they really are just missing?”

“No,” Keith says forcefully, having been strangely quiet for some time now. “ _Someone_ is taking them, they’re … _experimenting_ on them or something.”

“What?!” Hunk exclaims, grinding the entire entourage to a sudden stop.

“Lance and I found … a body in the caves,” Keith says, and Pidge’s face contorts with horror. “He was wearing this around his neck.”

Keith fishes the collar from the pack and lifts it up for everyone to see.

“You found a body?! You didn’t tell me you found a body!” Hunk turns to Lance, complexion paling. Shiro shoots Keith a concerned look as well.  
  
“O-oh, didn’t I? Must’ve slipped my mind,” Lance glances uneasily from Hunk to Keith.

“What did he look like?” Pidge asks, fingers twisting into the straps of their pack, knuckles blanching.

“It wasn’t your brother or father,” Keith assures them, voice suddenly growing quiet, “he’d been there for years.”

An audible sigh of relief slips past Pidge’s lips. When they open their eyes, their gaze falls on the collar. Arching a brow, Pidge reaches for it before pausing.

“… May I?”

Keith nods and hands the collar over to Pidge who takes it with a gleam in their eyes.

“C’mon we’re almost there,” Pidge says, disengaging another trap and climbing up a length of rope that hangs down a steep, rocky climb.

Shiro follows close behind and asks with a huff, “Where is _there_ exactly?”

His question is soon answered as he crests the slope, finding himself in a rocky outcropping that Pidge has converted into a perfect hideout. The alcove is protected from the elements by a low rock overhang while the rocks stacked around the perimeter provide ample protection from prying eyes. In the center of the den is a makeshift worktable with various gizmos and gadgets piled up and spilling over onto the ground.

By the time Keith, Lance and Hunk reach the top, Pidge has already begun to clear off the table, eager to work on the collar. As Pidge disperses the junk, Shiro recognizes a few of the devices he’d seen at the Holt’s camp, including the drone.

Taking care not to trip on the multitude of wires strewn across the floor, Shiro continues to look around. Aside from the drone, a laptop, and a small solar panel, most of the devices scattered around the base are alien to him and appear to be cobbled together from junk.

“What is all this stuff?” Lance asks while Hunk hovers over one of the contraptions, eyes wide.

“Equipment. Don’t touch,” Pidge says tersely, giving Hunk’s wandering hands a slap.                                                                                                    

While Hunk nurses his sore wrist with a pout, Lance clears his throat loudly and jerks his head toward an unoccupied area of the base. Arching an eyebrow, Shiro joins Lance and Hunk, followed shortly by Keith.

“Don’t mind us … we’re just gonna … talk … quietly … over here,” Lance says casually – or at least in an attempt at nonchalance.

If Pidge hears him they don’t acknowledge it, tinkering away at the collar with single-minded focus. With Pidge’s attention elsewhere, Lance drops into a huddle-stance and the other three reluctantly indulge him.

 “You don’t actually believe _Bigfoot_ kidnapped his – her …” Lance trails off, frowning.

“Their?” Hunk offers.

“ _Their_ dad and brother … do you?”

“It does sound a bit far-fetched,” Shiro says, peeking over his shoulder.

“What about Hendrick? He said he saw monsters in the woods,” Keith adds.

“Hendrick was nuts,” Lance says, earning a glare from Keith.

“Maybe so, but I think we can all agree that something is _very_ wrong is going on,” Shiro says. “Whether it’s Bigfoot or human experiments or god knows what else – we have to find out what.”

They all nod in agreement just as Pidge lets out a triumphant whoop.

“Ah-HA! Got it!” They beam and run over to the group to show off their work.

Pidges holds the collar like a trophy, chest puffed with pride. The side grooves are now pulsing with a faint magenta light. The four men’s eyes widen.

“Wow …” Lance murmurs, “What does it mean?”

“I … I don’t know,” Pidge says, visibly deflating.

“Let’s worry about that later,” Shiro says. “For now, I think our next step should be to confront Allura. See what she knows.”

Keith nods in approval while Lance and Hunk agree with varying degrees of reluctance.

“Good idea. Just let me grab some stuff,” Pidge says, dashing back to their workbench.

“Not you pipsqueak,” Lance drawls.

“What?!” Squawks Pidge, who is already in the process of shoving what looks like a baggie of cookies into their pack.

“Aw, let ‘em come,” Hunk says, “We can use the extra man-power – er … person-power.”

“I don’t know, it could be dangerous,” Shiro argues. “We don’t know what we’re getting into.”

“Hey, I’ve been taking care of myself just fine - I took you bozos out easily enough,” Pidge counters hotly and Lance turns a little red, mumbling something under his breath.

“Besides” Pidge’s voice softens, gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s my family out there.”

Beside him, Shiro hears a sharp intake of breath and turns to Keith who is wearing a pained expression similar to Pidge’s. Keith’s eyes meet Shiro’s. There’s a plea in those violet eyes and Shiro’s heart clenches with sympathy.

With a sigh of defeat, he says, “Alright, you can come.”

Pidge’s face splits into a wide, toothy grin. “YES! You won’t regret it!”

As Pidge begins to shove various gadgets into their pack, Lance’s expression morphs into something more eager.

“Dude, we’re like the Mystery Gang!” He grins. “Shiro is Freddie, Pidge is Velma, Hunk is Shaggy and I’m Daphne!”

“Who am I?” Keith frowns, poorly pretending that he doesn’t feel left out.

“You’re Scooby-Doo.”

Keith shoots Lance an indignant glare. “What?”

“I think he has more of a Scrappy-Doo vibe,” Hunk chimes in, “Always ready for a fight.”

“And annoying as hell.” Lance adds with a smirk.

“If we’re talking annoying then _you’d_ be Scrappy-Doo,” Keith huffs.

“What?!”

“Alright you two, cut it out.” Shiro moves between the men, giving them both a stern frown. “We need get moving if we want to get to Allura’s lookout before dark.”

With half-hearted mumbles of _‘yes sir’_ and _‘okay’_ , the team set out and begin the long hike to Allura’s tower, hopeful that they’ll finally get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This’ll be my last update for a little while. I need some time to focus on work and my health, but hopefully I’ll be able to update by next week. I want to give this my full attention, especially since there are only a few chapters left, and I think y’all deserve my very best. ( ´ ◡ ` )


	37. Day 78 - Dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! Ok, I know a week isn’t that long of a break, but considering I was updating this daily it’s a long time for me. Thanks to everyone who left such encouraging comments! I’m feeling much better, but I’ll still be dialing back the updates to every other day instead of daily. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!

“Aw crap!” Lance shouts, stopping the group in their tracks.

“Lemmie guess, another rock in your shoe?” Keith grumbles.

“What? No, no, no. It's the cable-car."

"The what?"

The cable-car. It’s the only way to get into Allura’s sector,” he explains, sprinting ahead of the group.

They soon crest the hill, emerging from the woods into an open area that is cut off by deep ravine. Situated on the precipice is a small deck. Beside it is a wide pole festooned with a large spool and thick cable connecting it to a wooden tram on other side. Lance hops onto the deck and points across the ravine.

“See? It’s kept locked up. Allura only uses it for emergencies.”

While Hunk peers over the edge of the ravine with grimace, Pidge joins Lance on the deck and inspects the cable.

“Is there no other way around?” Shiro asks, stopping several yards short of the others as he waits for Keith who has been lagging behind for a while now.

“Probably?” Lance frowns. “But it would take _ages_ to find a spot shallow enough to climb down, and we’re running out of daylight fast.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Shiro’s features twist in contemplation. Just as he’s about to ask Keith’s opinion, a thunderous shot cracks through the air.

Shiro whirls around, only catching a glimpse of the Keith’s horrified expression before spotting the cause of Keith’s shock. Shiro’s blood freezes his veins, heart stopping as three large – _creatures_ slowly emerge from the darkness of the surrounding brush.

They’re big – big as bears. But bears … don’t walk like that. Bears don’t have golden, glowing eyes. Bears don’t … _smile_.

The closest beast snarls – or smiles – and charges toward Keith at a frightening speed. Before Keith can even re-aim, the creature’s hand swings. The heavy blow knocks the air from Keith’s lungs and he’s flung to the side like a ragdoll. He bounces off the hard ground, rolling several more feet before coming to a stop. The sudden impact sends the shotgun flying, arching through air before landing near the deck in cloud of dust.

Enraged, Shiro reaches for the magnum just the beast turns its attention onto him. It rushes toward him, with a second creature hot on its heels.

As Hunk sprints forward to help, a purple blur suddenly fills his vision and he’s slammed into the ground, teeth clacking noisily upon impact. While Pidge rushes to Hunk’s aid, Lance makes a mad dash for the shotgun, nearly stumbling in his haste.

Just as the creature is upon him, Shiro fires two shots into its head, point blank. Bits of bone and flesh explode outward as its face is blown apart. Warm blood splashes across Shiro’s face and suddenly dark, brown eyes are staring back at him – wide with shock and pain. He freezes. ~~~~

With a yell belying their diminutive size, Pidge launches themself onto the monster’s back, clinging for dear life when it begins to shake. While Hunk focuses on keeping the creature’s teeth as far away as possible, Lance grabs the shotgun and whirls around. Luckily, there’s one bullet left. The only problem is … there’s _one_ bullet left.

While Shiro stands immobile, the third beast – the largest of all – lunges forward and seizes him by the throat. Suddenly thrust back into reality, Shiro kicks his legs in a futile attempt at escape. Choking on what little air he has, he sinks dull nails into the thick material covering the creature’s arm. What Shiro now recognizes as armor gleams red in the setting sun, matching the glint of the monster’s teeth as it sneers.

With the beast distracted by Pidge, Hunk plants his feet squarely against its chest and shoves, rolling safely away from the ravine. As the creature staggers back, Lance calls out.

“Pidge!”

While everything around him descends into chaos, Keith slowly rises to his hands and knees. With a low groan, he blinks dazedly. The first thing he sees when his eyes finally focus makes his blood boil, pumping feverishly through his veins. Scrambling to his feet, Keith yanks the hunting knife from his belt, rushing toward the creature whose claws are curled around Shiro’s neck. With a feral scream, he takes a running leap and throws himself at the monster’s back. His knife finds its mark, sinking down to the hilt as it pierces the beast’s jugular.

At the sound of Lance’s shout, the creature whirls around, with Pidge peeking over its shoulder. Taking aim, Lance pulls the trigger, hitting the beast square in the chest. As the monster staggers from the impact, Pidge drops to ground and together with Hunk, they slam themselves bodily into back of the creature’s knee. Arms flailing wildly, it falls backwards with a cry, plummeting into the ravine.

Shiro is dropped onto the ground with a thud as blood spurts from the monster’s throat. Its golden eyes widen, and it emits a wet scream. Gurgling weakly, it lurches forward a few steps before collapsing with Keith still hanging onto its back.

Keith pushes off the body quickly, knife in hand, poised to strike. But there’s no need. It’s dead.

Trembling, he turns his attention to Shiro who rushes toward him.

“Keith,” he rasps, clutching Keith’s biceps, “Are you ok?”

Keith nods slowly. His eyes are wide, glazed over with a haze that Shiro knows all too well. He’s not ok. But he’s not badly hurt, and that will have to do. For now.

Shiro’s eyes quickly dart back to the others, making sure that all are present and accounted for.

“Is everyone ok?”

Moans and groans of various pitches and lengths answer him. Like Keith, no one seems to be seriously injured. Other than being covered in a thin layer of dust, Hunk is unscathed, albeit pretty shaken up. Likewise, Pidge is wiping their glasses almost mechanically, staring off into the distance with a blank expression. Lance seems to be the least affected of them all, directing Hunk to the deck to sit beside Pidge before gently dusting him off.

Keith’s eyes are round as saucers as Shiro leads him to the deck and guides him to sit. Carefully, Shiro pries the bloody knife from Keith’s white knuckled grip, setting it aside before sitting beside him with a bone-tired groan.

While the rest of the group are obviously making an effort _not_ to look at the creatures, Shiro hazards a glance that quickly turns into a reluctant stare, like his eyes have been taken hostage by the unnatural sight before them.

“… What are they?”

“They’re no bigfoot, that’s for damn sure,” Lance mutters, plunking himself down beside Hunk with an exhausted huff.

Shiro swallows thickly as he stares.

Both beasts wear a grey bodysuit, with dark plates of armor covering their chest and shoulders. Their boots are made of a similar material, the bottoms of which are surprisingly smooth. His gaze trails higher, falling on large hands with claws sharp as knives. Hands that were gripping his throat mere minutes ago.

 “-eal,” Keith mumbles, so quiet that Shiro almost misses it.

“What?” Shiro asks softly, brows arching up and in with concern.

“Aliens are real,” Keith says faintly, realization slowly dawning as he shouts, “ALIENS ARE REAL!”

“ALIENS ARE REAL!” Pidge echoes with a laugh that borders on hysterical.

“… Aliens are real,” Hunk says in a shocked, almost awed, tone.

He leans on Lance who in turn slouches against him for mutual support.

 “… I’m not saying it,” Lance mutters.

Shiro’s gaze drifts back to the bodies, stomach sinking as the gravity of what he’s seeing settles over him. When given the choice between furry aliens and monstrosities straight out of The Island of Doctor Moreau, Shiro honestly hopes that the former is more likely.

After returning their glasses to perch on their nose, Pidge casts a clinical eye over the corpses. Undisturbed by the gruesome scene, they hop off the deck and creep closer, carefully removing the largest creature’s belt. It’s huge, easily dwarfing their tiny frame. Pidge drapes it across their body nonetheless, letting it hang from their shoulder like a beauty pageant sash.

“How can you wear that thing?” Lance says with disgust.

“It’s called style Lance, and you’re a savage,” Pidge quips.

Oblivious to the pair’s banter, Keith runs his hands through his hair, staring at the ground in disbelief. Meanwhile, Shiro rubs Keith’s back in a repetitive motion, dealing with the shock in his own way.

“I guess this explains why Allura didn’t want anyone out at night,” he says shakily.

Lance sits up, turning to Shiro with a frown. “You don’t really think she knew about those … _things_ all along, do you?”

“Of course she knew about them,” Keith says, shooting a disdainful glare at Lance.

“What I want to know is, why hide it?” Pidge frowns. “Why not tell anyone?”

“Well we’re gonna find out soon enough,” Keith says, rising to his feet and approaching the cables, features pulling into a determined scowl.

“UH – _How_?” Hunk says. “We still have no idea how to get across, and we can forget about going back – the woods could be crawling with those things for all we know!”

Keith looks at the cables then across the ravine contemplatively. With a small hop, he grabs the cable above him. Hoisting himself up, he swings his legs and crosses them around the wire.

Shiro’s eyes widen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Keith huffs, pulling himself slowly but surely along.

“It looks like you’re trying to get yourself killed. Get down.” Shiro reaches out and grabs Keith’s ankle earning a glare for his trouble.

“There’s no other way across,” Keith says flatly, “And I’ve come too far to just give up now.”

It’s a stand-off, and Shiro recognizes the stubborn flash in Keith’s dark eyes.

“… Alright,” Shiro releases Keith’s leg and reaches for the cable. Mimicking Keith’s earlier movement, he pulls himself up with a grunt.

“Woah, are you sure you’re up for this Shiro?” Keith asks, more out of concern than any lack of confidence.

“I could say the same for you,” Shiro huffs somewhat tetchily, though not out of malice.

“Well, I guess we’ll just wait here then. Right guys?” Hunk says hopefully.

“No way! I’m coming too!” Pidge calls out.

After making a rather impressive running jump, they wrap their gangly arms and legs around the cable, scrabbling after the other two like a monkey.

“Okay … just you and me the–” Hunk turns to Lance, or at least where Lance _used_ to be.

“HEY! Wait up!” Lance shouts before hauling himself onto the cable as well.

Hunk watches them with grimace. “I uh … I think I’ll just stay here and keep a lookout, y’know in case any of those things come back and … uh … wAIT FOR ME!”

Hunk gingerly takes hold of the wire and pulls himself up, slowly following the others.

They’re nearly halfway across when Keith peeks through his legs and calls out, “Hey Shiro, how you doin’?”

“I’m good,” he pants.

“I’m ok too Keith, thanks for asking!” Lance snipes from down the line.

Keith just rolls his eyes at Lance, but Shiro can’t help but blush at his boyfriend’s single-minded attention for him.

“How about you big guy?” Lance calls out. “You holdin’ up ok?”

Hunk whimpers from several feet behind him, “F-fine! Doing fine!”

“Pidge?” Shiro asks.

 “Did ever mention that I’m a palm sweater? I don’t think I told you that. Maybe I did. I don’t know. Anyway, my palms are very sweaty right now, but otherwise, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Duly noted,” Shiro chuckles.

It’s not long before they reach the other side – though not soon enough in Hunk’s opinion. Keith drops down first, quickly moving to help Shiro and the others down. With a little encouragement and a lot of patience, Hunk soon finds himself on solid ground as well. He presses his lips to the dusty earth in a dramatic fashion before sputtering and spitting the dirt from him mouth.

“Let’s never do that again,” he says to the unanimous agreement of the others.

After a quick rest the group sets off once again with Keith blazing ahead. By the time they crest the final hill, it’s well into the evening, and several stars are already twinkling in dusky sky.

Allura’s tower – if you can even call it that – is much different than Shiro’s. Situated high on a hill, the cabin is surrounded by large boulders and rocks, giving it a fortress-like atmosphere.

As they stealthily approach, Shiro can’t help but notice that there are no lights on in the cabin. Not even a lamp. Luckily there are no creaky boards to give away their presence as the steps are made from the same rock surrounding the building. With a wave of his hand, Keith motions for the others to stay behind while he takes the lead. Crouching, he slowly circles the cabin before peeking inside. His eyes widen as he shoots up.

“There’s no one here.”

“What? No one?” Lance scrambles up the steps and presses his face to one of the dusty windows.

The others soon join them, peering inside. While Lance looks around in confusion, Keith jiggles the door knob.

“Locked,” he mutters.

“Too bad we don’t have your lock picking stuff,” Lance grumbles before turning to whisper loudly to Shiro, “Did you know he was a criminal when you started dating him?”

Before Shiro can answer, Keith says, “Don’t worry, I have a backup.”

“Back-?”

Before Lance can finish, Keith smashes the butt of the shotgun into pane above the doorknob, sending shattered glass flying.

“Dude what the hell?!”

Ignoring Lance’s cries, Keith reaches his arm through the hole and unlocks the door. Glass crunches loudly underfoot as he enters the room and begins to inspect it. The cabin’s layout is the same as Shiro’s with the only striking difference being the thick layer of dust covering, well … _everything_.

The rest of the group soon pour in behind him, more mindful of the glass. While the others look around, Hunk makes a bee-line for the bed, plopping down with a sigh. The bedspread, once a bright red and white gingham, has grown faded from what must have been years in the sun. At the foot of the bed are several neatly folded blankets. Next to the bed is a small shelf. On it is a reading lamp and a stack of books which, like the bed, are sun-bleached, but otherwise in good condition.

Shiro lifts the corner of the top book before letting it drop, grimacing at the small cloud of dust it produces. He turns to watch Lance dragging his finger across the desk which, like everything else, is as tidy as it is dusty. On it is a hand cranked pencil sharpener and two cups. One cup filled with pencils and pens while the other contains several delicate flowers. Sadly, the plants are long dead, nothing more than dried up husks.

Lance inspects his filthy digit with a frown, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. His nose wrinkles.

“Man, it looks like no one’s been up here in like, a decade,” he says, wiping his hand on Keith’s back.

Ignoring Keith’s withering glare, he joins Hunk on the bed, slumping against the larger man with sigh.

“Maybe longer,” Pidge says, poking up from behind the cupboard door they just opened. “All the food is really old. Look.”

They toss Shiro a can of spam before hopping up to take a seat on the counter, swinging their gangly legs. Frowning, Shiro turns the can over in his hands, noting the date on the back.

“Best before June 17th, 1985.”

“How long does spam last for anyway?” Lance asks.

Shiro purses his lips.

“Two … maybe five years?” He offers with a shrug.

“What about peanut butter?” Pidge asks, scowling at a jar of the stuff with suspicion.

“Uh guys, I just had a thought …” Hunk says nervously. “What if Allura … is _dead_ , and you’ve been talking to her ghost this whole time.” ~~~~

“That would be just perfect wouldn’t it?” Lance grumbles, “Aliens, Bigfoot, and ghosts. The holy trinity of wackado bullshit.”

“Hunk has a point … sort of,” Pidge says, thick brows knitting together. “Have either of you actually _seen_ Allura?”

“No. I haven’t,” Shiro admits, turning to Lance expectantly.

“Me neither,” Lance deflates, slumping against Hunk who offers him a gentle pat.

“Okay, new plan,” Keith says, “We go to the fence and find whatever the hell they’re hiding back there.”

Hunk vocalizes his objections in the form of a long drawn out moan. “You don’t mean like, _now_ right?”

Keith turns to him, eyes ablaze. “Of course I mean _now_ , we’re running out of time!”

As Keith steps closer to the door, Shiro places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Keith, I know you’re eager, but I think we should rest. We’ve all had a long day … especially you,” his voice grows soft near the end.

For a moment Keith looks like he’s going to argue, but when he sees the concerned look on Shiro face, his gaze falls to the floor.

“… Alright.”

“I call dibs on the bed,” Lance slurs in the background, cheek smashed against Hunk’s shoulder.

“We can set out early in the morning, okay?” Shiro smiles gently. “We’ll be more alert after a good night’s sleep.” 

“I’ll make dinner!” Hunk bounces up excitedly, leaving Lance to face-plant into the bed.

“Out of what? Expired peanut-butter and spam?” Lance grumbles, voice muffled by the mattress.

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Hunk rolls up his sleeves enthusiastically, his previous exhaustion forgotten.

“I’ll set up some traps,” Pidge says, hopping down from the counter, “Just in case anyone - or thing - tries to come up during the night.”

“I’ll help,” Keith says as he follows Pidge out the door, brushing past Shiro who watches him with concern.

Their eyes briefly meet, but Keith’s quickly dart away, and he tears down the steps. He just isn’t ready to talk. Not yet. And if Shiro keeps giving him those soft concerned glances and gentle touches, he’ll just start crying again – and he’s already embarrassed himself enough for one day, thank you very much.

And so, he throws himself into helping Pidge, who turns out to be quite the slave-driver. Before long the surrounding area is littered with enough traps to make Kevin McCallister proud.

“What do you think we’ll find behind the fence,” Pidge asks, adding the finishing touches on one of the last snares.

“Dunno,” Keith admits as his attention slowly wanes.

His thoughts drifts back to the cave. To the sight of his father – twisted and crushed. Forgotten. He swallows thickly, forcing down the bile rising in his throat.

“You said the body you found was … experimented on,” Pidge says, dragging Keith from his thoughts.

Keith opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing and turns to Pidge. Their knuckles are white, trembling as they clench the length of rope in their hands.

For the first time since they met, Keith can see fear and apprehension written across their face. The beginnings of doubt and hopelessness. He knows this because it’s the same kind of face he had to stare at every day in the mirror after his father first went missing.

Setting his jaw, Keith’s reaches out to grip Pidge’s slim shoulders.  
  
“Look at me,” he says firmly. “We’ll find them. I’m not gonna let what happened to my –” Keith cuts himself off, gaze falling to the ground, features twisting with pain. He takes a deep breath before looking up and his eyes harden with determination. “We’re gonna get your family back. _Alive_ … I promise.”

Pidge’s hazel eyes grow watery, their lower lip trembling.  They bury their face into Keith’s chest, wrapping lanky arms around him tightly. Surprised by the sudden embrace, Keith hesitates for a moment before petting Pidge’s head gently, rubbing soothing circles on their back. Pidge’s shoulders shake as they hiccup and sniffle into Keith’s shirt, wetting it with their tears.

High up in the tower, observing the tender moment, is Shiro, who watches them with furrowed brows. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but judging by Keith’s intense expression, it must have something to do Pidge’s missing family.

A hand suddenly claps him on the shoulder, and he’s jolted from his thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Lance says, lips pulling into a knowing smile, “He’s only got eyes for you.”

Shiro blinks at Lance as he gives him a reassuring pat before going back inside the cabin.

“That’s not what I was worried about,” Shiro mumbles, and resumes beating the rug he’d just laid over the rail. ~~~~

Like Pidge and Keith, he and Lance were assigned their own set of chores to complete – mostly because Hunk could only take so much of Lance peeking over his shoulder. While other two worked on security, Shiro and Lance were tasked with making the cabin more hospitable.  Naturally, Shiro had been saddled with the more physical chores.

He can’t really complain though, as the tasks keep him from thinking too much about the bizarre situation they’re in. It doesn’t occupy him completely however, and his thoughts start to drift back to Keith’s worrisome behavior.

On the one hand, he trusts Keith to tell him when he’s ready. Rushing him won’t do any good. Shiro knows that from experience. But on the other hand, he wants to know what’s wrong _now._ It tears him up inside every time he sees Keith’s forlorn expression. Like he’s lost and doesn’t know where to turn.

Shiro’s gaze wanders back to Lance who has draped himself across Hunk’s back, peering over his shoulder. Smirking, he says something that Shiro can’t make out. Whatever it is makes Hunk turn beet red and he shoos Lance away with his spoon. Lance just snickers and backs away, eyes meeting Shiro’s. He shrinks from Shiro’s severe expression and turns to wipe down the counters, trying his best to look busy.

Shiro’s eyes narrow.

Lance has been acting cagey around Shiro ever since he came back from the cave. Despite Keith’s assurances of Lance’s improved behavior, Shiro can’t help but wonder if he had something to do with Keith’s sudden change in mood. But more importantly … would Lance even talk about it?

Shiro takes a deep breath and shakes his head, returning to the rug. Asking Lance will probably just do more harm than good. It’s best to just wait. Even if the waiting is pure torture.

As Shiro works, his rhythmic beating drowns out Pidge’s sniffling which soon peter out into deep, calm breaths. Pidge pulls away from Keith’s arms, pushing their glasses up to their forehead as they dig the heel of their palm into their eyes.

“Feel better?”

Pidge nods, lips quirking into a small smile. Keith returns the smile and give Pidge a firm pat on the back.

“Let’s get this finished up,” he says. “I’m starving, and it smells like Hunk is working miracles up there.”

Nodding, Pidge turns to give the taut string an experimental tug. The tin cans Hunk had kindly donated clank together noisily, much to Pidge’s satisfaction.

“Perfect,” they grin. “This should give us a heads-up in case we get any unexpected visitors in the night.”

While Pidge scrambles up the steps, Keith follows at a more leisurely pace. As he rounds the cabin he passes by Shiro. The older man smiles gently at him and tries make some meaningful eye contact. Before he can say anything, Keith darts inside, never meeting his gaze for more than a few seconds.

Shiro closes his eyes and sighs, muttering under his breath, “Patience. Yields. Focus.”

After giving the rug a few more vigorous beatings, he takes it inside. He crosses the threshold with his nose in the air, inhaling deeply.

“Smells good Hunk,” he says, dropping the rug onto the floor.

Hunk beams proudly and hands a bowl to Shiro who takes a seat on the chair by the desk. He takes a tentative bite, eyes widening as flavor busts across his tongue.

“Wow! This is actually really good!” Shiro marvels.

The rest of the group grunts in agreement, too busy shoveling food into their mouths to convey proper appreciation.  
  
“It’s all about the spices,” Hunk says, chest puffing with pride.

“Why do you carry the equivalent of a miniature spice rack with you?” Keith asks around a mouthful of food.

“The first rule of camping is: always be prepared,” Hunk replies.

“Prepared for what? A wild unseasoned steak?” Pidge scoffs playfully.

The group quickly fall into easy banter, filling the air with laughter and the gentle scraping of spoons on ceramic. With bowls emptied and bellies filled, they wash up and begin preparing for bed.

Like an excited child at a sleepover, Lance practically dives onto the bed, telling Hunk to sleep on the floor beside him. Hunk of course complies, rolling out his sleeping bag and crawling inside with an exhausted sigh.

Unfortunately, Keith, Shiro and Pidge did not come quite as prepared as Hunk and must make do with blankets and rugs. They don’t complain though. Pidge just clumps the blankets donated by Lance into a pile before burrowing into them like a hamster.

While Shiro folds up one of the two rugs into a bed, Keith does the same, pushing his flush against Shiro’s. Keith’s eyes flick up to meet Shiro’s, silently asking for permission. Shiro offers a warm smile of consent and Keith's eyes quickly dart away again.

Still smiling fondly, Shiro turns to Pidge who is typing away on their laptop. Soft clicking fills the night air and the screen casts a soft, almost ethereal glow around the room.

“Enough of that Pidge,” Shiro says gently, leaning forward to give their hair a good-natured ruffle.

With a huff, Pidge closes the laptop before curling up in their pile of blankets, settling with a sigh. After removing his prosthetic, Shiro lays down next to Keith. Tentatively, he rests his arm on Keith’s waist, smiling when Keith shifts closer.

“Good night everybody,” he says.

“Night John-boy,” Lance says.

Hunk yawns. “Nighty-night.”

“Sleep tight,” Pidge chimes in.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Keith adds.

“… Wait. You don’t think there are actual bed bugs in this place, do you?”

“Goodnight Hunk,” the rest mumble in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALIENS ARE REAL!
> 
> I hope the fight scene made sense. If not, I would greatly appreciate any advice or tips y’all might have. ❤
> 
> Also I have a tumblr (friends2lovers) if you wanna scream about how great sheith is with me (ノv`*)


	38. Day 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *reads my own note from the previous chapter* y i k e s
> 
> Sorry for the late update! I really didn't like the original draft I had of this and I ended up changing a lot. I also ended up underestimating my body's ability to fucking self destruct again so the next chapter will probably be a week away OTL

As dawn approaches, the steadily rising sun peeks over distant mountains, filtering through the cabin windows and casting soft golden hues over the sleeping forms inside. However, there is one among them to whom sleep is elusive. As a habitual early-riser, Keith wakes with the sun - a trait that he considers beneficial under normal circumstances. However, these are not normal circumstances. With a resigned sigh, he gives up, eyes fluttering open to be met by Shiro's serene face.

Keith smiles fondly.

His fingers hover over Shiro’s features, too afraid to touch for fear of waking him. They float above his thick eyebrows, over his eyelids, tracing his scar before drifting down his sharp jaw, across slightly parted lips to the corner of his mouth where his dimple would be if he were smiling. 

He looks calm. At peace. A stark contrast to earlier – mouth agape, eyes wide with panic, face a horrible purplish red.

Keith’s smile fades at the memory, and his thoughts drift somewhere dark.

_Maybe Lance was right._

_Maybe I am just dragging Shiro into my mess._

_… Dragging all of them._

Shifting, he looks over his shoulder at the sleeping forms of those he’s come to call his friends. Lance has long since abandoned the much-coveted bed in favor of spooning Hunk, draping a gangly arm around the larger man’s midsection.

Neither of them signed for this. How unfair is it that he should ask more of them?

And then there’s Pidge who is peacefully curled up in their pile of blankets. Keith’s heart aches for them. Pidge came so far for answers … but what if they don’t like the answers they get?

Keith squeezes his eyes shut, as the events of last night flash before his eyes.

What would have happened if Lance had missed that shot? What if Shiro hadn’t reached for the magnum in time? What if Keith had woken up a second later?

His fingers twitch around nothing, around the memory of his knife, of it’s bloody, sticky hilt pressed into his palm. Hunk’s carefully prepared meal sours in Keith’s stomach. and Shiro’s arm around his waist feels like a lead weight, crushing him, impeding his already shortening breaths.

Moving slowly and carefully, Keith wriggles out from Shiro’s loose hold and quietly slips outside. The wind whistles faintly around him as he dangles his long legs over the edge of the deck. Folding his arms on the lower rail, he stares across the vast wilderness before him. Over trees and valleys. Past mountainous peaks. Above him, stars twinkle dimly, their luster dulled by the steadily rising sun.

Keith’s fingers dig into his biceps, nails biting half-moons into his skin. ~~~~

As a child, the stars seem so much brighter, brimming with possibilities and endless adventures. Now, the unknown is less exciting and more terrifying.

A heavy weight falls across Keith’s shoulders, jolting him from his tumultuous thoughts. He turns quickly to see Shiro hovering over him with the corner of a blanket in his hand and a gentle smile on his face. Wordlessly, Keith tugs at the fabric, pulling it around him like a protective shroud.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Shiro whispers, settling next to Keith with a grunt.

Keith just nods and continues staring at the sky. Shiro’s hand gently presses to Keith’s lower back, moving in slow, soothing circles as he leans in and whispers, “Want to talk?” 

The question has Keith’s teeth sinking into his lower lip, tugging and tearing.

 No. He doesn’t want to talk … but he knows he has to, not just to ease his own mind, but Shiro’s as well.

Closing his eyes, Keith takes a deep breath. His temple falls onto Shiro’s shoulder, brows pinching together as he struggles to find the right words. Where does he even start?

Keith’s eyes reluctantly open, gaze drifting to his hands where they’re clasped his lap, nervously fidgeting. If he looks closely, he’ll swear he can still see blood under his nails.

He swallows thickly.

“I’ve never really … killed anything before … nothing like that,” he says slowly, carefully. “I mean, I’ve caught and killed fish of course but that’s different they’re not –” Keith cuts himself off, biting his lip.

His stomach churns as gurgling and wet screams reverberate against the walls of his mind. He clenches his fists, nails cutting into his palm as he tries to forget the feeling of blood, warm and sticky, clinging to his skin. Impossible to remove. He’d tried. He must have stood by the sink for minutes, rubbing his hands raw. It wasn’t until Shiro squeezed his shoulder that he moved, ducking his head as he tried to ignore Shiro’s sympathetic gaze.

“It … it’s not like it was a human or anything,” he continues, mind wandering back to events of yesterday, to the sight of the creature sprawled on the ground, golden eyes glazing over. “It … it …”

Suddenly, he's lurching forward and leaning over the rail. Bitter bile coats his tongue, body convulsing as if trying to pump the memories and remorse they cause from his body. Shiro is instantly at his side, whispering soft words of encouragement.

“I know, I know. Oh Keith, it’s gonna be ok. I promise. That’s right, just breathe. I’ve got you, baby.”

Once Keith finishes retching, Shiro quietly slips back inside the cabin and retrieves a canteen from his pack. Keith accepts the flask with a silence nod of gratitude. While Keith swishes and spits, Shiro brushes the sweaty strands of hair from his clammy cheek. His hand travels lower to Keith’s back, rising and falling with Keith’s ribs as his breathing slowly evens out.

“Remember when I told you how I escaped – from the caves?” Shiro asks.

“… Yeah,” Keith rasps.

“There was something I left out … something I didn’t want to tell you.”

Shiro takes a deep breath, swallowing down the knot in his throat.

“After the doctor set off the bomb, I ran. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I had to keep running. Eventually I saw sunlight, but guarding the exit was a man – no, not a man … he was no more than a boy. I easily overpowered him. I grabbed his gun and I –”

A wave of nausea ripples through him and he presses forehead to Keith’s back, sucking in breath. He needs to be strong. He needs to tell Keith.

Slender, trembling fingers reach back to card through his hair.

“Shiro … you don’t –”

“It’s hard,” Shiro says, cutting him off. “It’s hard to take a life – any life. It changes you irreversibly as a person. And … it’s okay to be upset about it.”

Keith shudders, choking on a silent sob. Gently, Shiro maneuvers Keith till his face is tucked into the crook of Shiro’s neck. He cradles Keith’s head with his wide palm, pressing his lips to Keith’s ear and cheek. Keith clings to him like a child would a treasured toy, afraid of losing what they’d grown to love and cherish above all else.

“You could have died because of me," Keith mumbles into Shiro's shoulder, dampening it with his tears. ~~~~

“But I didn’t,” Shiro reminds him, gently stroking his hair, “Because of you.”

“I froze up.”

“So did I.”

Keith shakes his head. “I never should have dragged you into thi-”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere Keith,” Shiro says firmly, leaving no room for arguments. “I signed up for this. Remember?”

Of course he remembered. How could he forget? How could he forget Shiro’s promise or the way Shiro held him, comforted him?

However, the thought that someone being so selflessly invested in his well-being is still a foreign concept to him. Luckily, he trusts that Shiro will stick around long enough for the idea to become his new normal. The thought gives Keith strength and he sucks in a shuddery breath.

“The body in the cave …  it was my dad,” he murmurs, voice cracking with emotion as he buries his face into Shiro’s tightening chest. “He was crushed by rubble trying to escape.”

“Oh Keith.” Shiro clutches the younger man’s trembling frame close.

“I … I felt …  _relieved_ ,” he chokes. “I didn’t  _want_  to find him dead I just – I – I just –”

“I know baby,” Shiro squeezes him tighter, pressing kisses to top of Keith’s head. “I know.”

 “He … he didn’t abandon me,” Keith says, realization only just now dawning on him.

“He never wanted to leave you Keith. He was fighting to get back to you …” Shiro trails off, the gravity of their situation settling over him like a dark cloud.

“We’ll have to fight too … won’t we,” Keith says, voice muffled by Shiro’s chest.

“… I think so.”

Keith squeezes Shiro tighter, fingers twisting into the fabric of his uniform.

“I know you’re strong Keith … promise me you’ll fight.”

“I will … If you will.”

“I will.”

After what feels like hours of heavy silence, Keith twists in Shiro’s hold, shifting till they’re face to face. Keith’s eyelids flutter shut, and he leans in, trusting Shiro to breach to gap. Their lips brush, delicate like the petals of a rose. Sighing, Shiro melts into the gentle press of their lips, letting the warmth of their connection spread across his body.

As their mouths slot together, Keith’s lips caress Shiro’s, slowly at first, before quickly growing demanding. With every scrape of teeth and swipe of tongue the heat coursing through Shiro’s veins grows hotter, molten desire travelling lower and lower …

However, the kiss is not born from simple lust. There’s something under surface. Something fearful.

Concerned, Shiro pulls away.

“Keith, wait.”

The firmness of his tone makes Keith freeze and he stares up at the older man with a cowed expression. Ashamed of his unbridled desperation, Keith ducks his head. His dark hair falls around his face like a veil, shielding him from Shiro’s gaze.

Frowning, Shiro cups Keith’s cheek, thumb brushing the mottled bruise that mars Keith’s skin. At first Keith tenses, but quickly relaxes. With a sigh, he cradles Shiro’s larger hand with his own, nuzzling into his wide palm.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro murmurs.

Keith’s eyes screw shut as his forehead drops to Shiro’s collarbone.

“Please,” he whispers, “I need to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”

Shiro’s heart aches at the desperation and grief in Keith’s voice, and he pulls the young man closer.

“Ok …” He kisses Keith’s temple. “Ok.”

Leaning in, Shiro kisses Keith’s eyelids, between his brows, and over dried tear trails. While Shiro maps Keith’s face with his lips, Keith’s hands stroke Shiro’s neck, fingers sliding along the curve of Shiro’s jaw, tracing his ears. When their mouths finally meet, Keith sighs in relief, melting against the solid weight of Shiro’s body. With Shiro dictating the intensity of the kiss, the pace remains slow and steady, and Shiro tries to focus more on the comfort their closeness provides than the heat lingering beneath his skin.

All his restrain is for naught however, as Keith slips his fingers beneath the hem of Shiro’s shirt. Shiro gasps, allowing Keith’s tongue to slip inside, dragging against Shiro’s. Keith muffles Shiro’s subsequent moans with his mouth, not even attempting to repress the shudder that overtakes him.

When they finally part for air, Shiro’s voice comes out rough and breathless as he pants against the younger man’s kiss-swollen lips. “Keith.”

Groaning, Keith’s mouth latches onto Shiro’s neck, letting salty sweat coat his tongue. The thick arm around his waist tightens its grip.

Keith sighs.

Yes. Finally. This is what he wanted back at the cave. Shiro’s touch, his voice, his scent, his taste. Everything.

Stifling a groan, Shiro’s teeth sink into his lower lip as Keith’s cool fingers dance across flushed skin. The surprisingly delicate touch sends shivers of pleasure up his spine and his forehead drops to Keith’s shoulder.

“Keith, we can’t …” he says weakly, but makes no actual attempt to stop Keith’s wandering hands.

And so, Keith ignores him, reveling in Shiro’s soft gasps. His hands slide higher and higher, eventually stopping at the substantial swell of Shiro’s pecs. He gives the firm muscle a squeeze. Shiro’s breath hitches, heat pooling behind his navel.

“Keith … there are children present,” Shiro scolds, though his authoritative tone is somewhat diminished by the desperate moan that’s ripped from his throat as skilled fingers brush over hardening nipples.

“The children are asleep,” Keith breathes hotly into the crook of Shiro’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

“Not all of them,” a voice quietly hisses.

The pair freeze, turning slowly. Through the open door they can see Pidge who is clutching at the blanket they’ve firmly pressed against their ears, face obscured by the thick fabric. Keith buries his face into the crook of Shiro’s flushed neck, body shaking as he bites back laughter. Holding back a giggle of his own, Shiro smiles at his companion.

“Feel better?” He whispers, stroking the dark skin under Keith’s eyes with this thumb.

 Keith sighs and nuzzles into the touch. “A little.”

Smiling, Shiro kisses Keith’s forehead as the younger man sags, exhaustion finally overtaking him. Carefully, Shiro maneuvers himself to lie with his back to the deck with Keith draped across his chest – just like that first time they made love. Above him, dusty boards and spiderwebs have been replaced by fading stars and indigo hues.

So much has changed since then, and more changes are coming. There’s nothing he can do to stop it, but as long as he has Keith by his side, Shiro knows he can face anything that comes their way, be it monsters or the end of the world itself.

With the reassuring weight of Keith draped over him, Shiro eyelids flutter shut and he sinks into a dreamless sleep.

\--------------------

When Shiro wakes it’s to whispers and hushed tittering. He vaguely recognizes the click of a camera shutter and he slowly blinks awake. His eyelids feel like sandpaper as they drag against his tired eyes. As his surroundings come into focus, he can see Pidge standing over him, grinning like the cat who caught the canary, cellphone in hand.

“Morning sleeping beauties,” Lance smirks as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Hunk’s irked voice emanates from inside the cabin, “Did you wake them up?”

Shiro shifts onto his elbow and blinks blearily. As Keith stirs in his arms, he remembers how they got into this position and his cheeks warm.

Hunk pops his head out the door with a frown. “Sorry. I told them not to wake you, but you know what they’re like,” he huffs, returning to the stove where he is, once again, working miracles.

While Pidge and Lance follow Hunk inside, Keith rubs his eyes sleepily and yawns. He looks a lot better than he did yesterday. Less weary.

Shiro smiles and kisses his cheek. “Morning.”

Keith drowsily stares at him then his surroundings, brows furrowed.

“We should get going,” Keith says, staggering to his feet.

“We will,” Shiro says, grabbing Keith by the arm. “ _After_  breakfast.”

A willful pout pulls at Keith’s lip, but he grumpily concedes. He soon joins the other three in their pestering of Hunk, demanding he hurry up. To this, Hunk curtly replies, “You can’t rush art.”

Once fed and packed, the group sets off to the tram, with Keith blazing the trail ahead of them. No one mentions the events of the previous night, but tension crackles around them just the same. None of them acknowledge it.

After unlocking the cable-car, they pile in like sardines with Shiro and Hunk manning the pullies.

“Does this thing have a weight limit?” Pidge asks, peering over the side with a frown.

“We’re about to find out,” Shiro says and they begin to move.

The atmosphere grows heavy as the car squeaks along. Somehow, everyone overcomes the doubtlessly shared urge to peek over the side and into the ravine – afraid of what they might see … or  _won’t_  see.

With the same solemnity as their crossing, the group exits the car, freezing at the sight of two large patches of blood … but no bodies.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” Hunk babbles, color bleeding from his face. “They’re gone … it was all real and … they’re  _gone_.”

The others regard the scene with similar expressions of shock and horror.

“What happened? Where’d they go?” Pidge frowns, slowly descending the deck steps.

“Bears?” Lance offers weakly, hopping down with a reluctant Hunk following close behind.

Keith however is still frozen in place, staring the telltale spray of blood splattered across the ground.

The buzzing of flies grows muffled and his ears feel like their filling with cotton. A heavy weight settles onto his shoulder and he flinches, turning to face a very concerned looking Shiro.

“You ok?” Shiro asks gently. It’s a stupid question and he knows it, but it would feel wrong not to ask.

“… I’m f–” Keith cuts himself off, biting his lip as his gaze returns the pool of blood.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “No. I’m not … but I will be.”

Shiro nods in understanding and gives his shoulder a squeeze. His hand falls to the small of Keith’s back as he ushers him down the steps and away from the carnage.

The trek to the fence is mercifully uneventful, though that doesn’t stop the group from jumping at every rustling bush. By the time they arrive at their destination, the sun is hanging high in the sky and the stifling scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air.

"Alright, now what?” Lance asks, smothering a cough into the crook of his elbow.

It only takes a cursory glance of the card-reader for Pidge’s face to split into a grin.

“We’re in luck! I have just the thing for this,” they say brightly, pulling a laptop, a small circuit-board, and a screwdriver out of their backpack.

After removing the plastic casing, they hook up wires from the card-reader to the circuit-board, which is then connected to the laptop via a USB cord. The bright screen is reflected in Pidge’s oversized glasses, displaying abstract pictograms connected by colored lines.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, leaning in.

“I’m uploading a program to my Raspberry pi –”

“I love pie,” Lance interjects.

“Not that kind of pie,” Hunk says.

“It’s a type of programmable controller," Pidge explains. "I’m using it to trick the card-reader into running through every possible combination until it finds the right code.”

“So you’re  _hacking_  it?” Lance asks excitedly.

“Yeah, basically,” they shrug. “Luckily I already had the program lying around – don’t ask.”

Keith smiles approvingly.

There’s a satisfying click as the lock releases and Pidge’s face splits into a grin. As the door slowly swings open, the air grows tensely silent and the group stares through the opening like it’s a portal to hell itself.

“I guess we’re really doing this huh?” Lance says, glancing at an equally apprehensive Hunk.

Keith’s jaw tightens. “No going back,” he says before looking up at Shiro who gives him a nod, features set in a similarly determined expression.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro pulls the magnum from the holster and leads the way, with Keith and the others following close behind. 

As they carefully creep down the dusty trail, the setting sun casts an eerie red glow, contrasted by towering pines that throw long, dark shadows across the ground, their gnarled branches reaching out like withered, grasping hands. The unsettling atmosphere only serves to heighten their trepidation and they keep close to the boulders and trees that line the path, jumping at the slightest sound.

It’s not long before they round a large rock formation and come across a large, open field – a large, open  _empty_  field.

Both Keith and Shiro lower their weapons as they scan the area, sharing the same perplexed expression.

Lance purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m seein’ a whole lotta’ nuthin’.”

“I don’t get it,” says Pidge, thoroughly baffled. “Why would they set up a fence  _and_  go to the trouble of electrifying it all for nothing?”

Keith frowns as he looks around. “Yeah, I was at least expecting a bunker, a hatch …  _something_ ,” he mutters, giving one of the small stones littering the ground a swift kick.

Before Shiro can respond, a metallic _clang_ echoes through the air. He and Keith share a look before drawing closer to to origin of the sound, guns raised. The muzzle of Keith’s shotgun collides with the invisible object first, causing him to stagger. Frowning, he jabs the gun forward a few more times, causing the sound of metal on metal to ring out. Tentatively, he reaches his hand out, sliding it across a smooth, slightly curved, surface.

While Hunk and Lance stare in slack-jawed shock, Pidge comes up beside Keith and raps their knuckles against the invisible metal.

“Incredible,” they murmur.

Shiro plucks a few pebbles from the ground and, with a grunt, chucks the tiny stones as high as he can, watching them bounce off the towering object in a flurry.

“What is it?” Whispers Hunk, who is lingering near the back of the group.

“It must be a ship,” Keith says, awed.

Lance turns and shoots him an incredulous look which Keith returns with glare.

“It’s a spaceship. You know it, I know it, we all know it. So let’s stop pretending aliens aren’t real because they  _clearly_  are.”

“Ok, ok,” Lance says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “It’s a spaceship.”

“But why isn’t it guarded?” Hunk asks, nervously looking around.

“Dunno, but we need to get inside … there must a a door somewhere,” Keith says pressing his hand to the curving wall.

“You don’t really think they left their super advanced spaceship both unguarded _and_ unlocked, do you?” Lance says incredulously.

 “You got any better ideas?” Keith snaps.

Lance’s mouth hangs open as he wracks his brain for a pithy retort. He turns to Shiro for help, but the older man just shrugs and follows Keith’s lead. Pidge joins in as well, dragging their hand up and down the side of the ship, feeling for … something.

“Maybe it’s voice activated,” Hunk offers.

“What makes you say that?” Keith says with a frown.

“Everything is voice activated is space,” Lance replies. “Don’t you watch Start Trek?”

Before Keith can give his indignant response, Hunk shouts, “Open sesame!”

Nothing.

“Open caraway!” Lance yells.

“Poppy!”

“Sunflower!” Pidge chimes in.

“Johnny apple!”

“Are you just naming all the seeds you can think of –”

A sharp hiss cuts Keith off and they all jump back, eyes wide. The space in front of them seems to spit in two and tall, thin line of light widens to reveal a large, arched doorway that appears out of thin air.

After steeling himself, Keith takes the first tentative step inside, with Shiro following close behind, weapons preemptively raised. After walking through a wide hallway, the pair find themselves in a large, open area, brightly lit by glowing pillars adjacent to curving walls. Several yards ahead of them is a broad staircase that leads to large door as well as a secondary walkway that wraps around the perimeter of the room. Their cautious footfalls echo off the high ceiling and polished floor, which is decorated with a large V shaped insignia. It’s almost reminiscent of a royal ballroom, were it not for something that looks uncannily like a receptionist’s desk placed smack-dab in the center of the room.

Once Keith and Shiro give the all clear, the other three poke their heads inside, looking around with wide-eyed wonder. Pidge is the first to enter and immediately darts toward the desk.

“Alright, we’re in alien spaceship,” Hunk says as the reality of the situation slowly sinks in, “… Now what?”

“We should probably try to find the owner,” suggests Shiro.  
  
“Let’s see, if I was an alien where would I be?” Lance muses, scanning the doors that line the walls.

“The kitchen!”

The three men turn to Hunk who sheepishly ducks his head at the sight of their bland expressions.

“What?”

“Hey guys! Look at this!” Pidge calls out, pulling up a hologram that the others crowd around.

It appears to be the different levels of the ship, each hovering above the other like layers of a cake.

 “We’re down here,” Pidge says, pointing to bottom floor. “And these kinda look like … dorms?” Pidge offers, indicating at a floor with several rows of small rooms. “And I think this is the armory -”

“Armory?” Keith leans in, wide eyes darting across the projection.

“Where are the bathrooms?” Hunk asks.

“Seriously?” Lance groans. “You should have gone before we left. Just hold it.”

Hunk pouts. “I don’t – It’s just – Aren’t you ever curious about stuff like that?”

“No.”

“Guys, we need to focus,” Shiro says. “Pidge, can you find anything that looks like a control room?”

Pidge hums, images reflecting across their glasses.

“Probably here.” Pidge points to large open space on the very top level.

“The next question is: how do we get there?” Shiro frowns.

“We don’t have to  _walk_  all the way, do we?” Hunk moans as his massive frame droops. “This thing is huge – it’ll take forever!”

“Hey guys!” Lance shouts, having grown bored and broken away from the group to explore. “I think I found an elevator,” he says, thumbing at the now open door at the top of the stairs, “… or a broom closet. 50/50 chance.”

The others quickly join Lance in the compartment. Once inside, they begin looking around for any sort of buttons or symbols. It’s Shiro who first spies what looks like a glowing slider embedded into the smooth white paneling of the wall. He presses a finger to the screen, sliding it all the way to the top. He feels the momentum in his stomach more than anywhere else as the elevator smoothly ascends.

“Alright gang, we don’t know what’s up there, so be ready for anything,” he says, tightening his grip on the magnum.

“You mean to like … run away?” Hunk asks.

“ _Especially_  to run away,” Shiro concedes.

The door opens with an airy whoosh, far earlier than anticipated. They freeze. Several yards ahead, they spot a woman standing on a short platform with her back to them. Luckily, she doesn’t appear to have heard them arrive, too busy focusing a large holographic map that Shiro quickly recognizes as the park.

“For the last time,” she says wearily, voice shockingly familiar, “I’m not hungry.”

Lance pushes past the others, stumbling out of the lift with shock and confusion etched across his face.

“… Allura?”

The woman spins around, eyes wide. “Lance?”

“Wait, wait, wait,  _she’s_  Allura?” Hunk says, joining the others as they emerge from the elevator.

“She certainly  _sounds_  like Allura …” Shiro admits, giving her a quick once-over.

She looks like something out of Star Trek, clad in a white bodysuit with a pink V shaped insignia emblazoned across her chest and platinum hair done up in a large, fluffy bun. Oddly enough, the first thought that plays through Shiro’s mind when he sees her pointed ears and cheek markings is –  _My boss is an alien._

Allura mirrors their stunned expressions as she says, “Shiro? What – Who … How did you get in here?”

“Front door,” Hunk casually shrugs.

Allura turns to him, eyes narrowing. “That’s impossible, I should have seen you coming.”

She turns to the large holographic map, contracting the image before bringing up a hologram of the massive ship. Sadly, there is little time to truly appreciate the impressive architecture as Allura quickly zooms in on the very top floor. In the hologram, they can plainly see the glowing outline of Allura’s body, but their own bodies are conspicuously absent.

“This is me and this is where you should be showing up, but you’re not.” She turns to them and squints. “Why?”

She studies group intensely as they look to each other in confusion. Her gaze soon falls on the large belt hanging from Pidge’s slender frame.

“That’s not earth technology … where did you get it?”

She steps off the platform and stalks over to Pidge.

“Uhhhh …” Pidge nervously steps back just as Keith places himself between them and Allura.

Allura arches a thin eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Keith’s boldness. His features harden in defiance.

“We got it off one of the giant purple monsters that attacked us,” he says sharply.

Allura’s eyes go wide. “The Galra!”

“The what now?” Lance frowns.

“The Galra – they came to earth hundreds of years ago,” she explains.

“Why?” Shiro asks.

Allura’s eyes dart back to Shiro and he can almost see the gears turning, like she’s weighing her options. No matter how you slice it, she has the advantage of home turf, and Shiro has no doubt in his mind that a race so technologically advanced would never be swayed by their primitive ballistic weapons.

Surprisingly, Allura’s gaze lowers and her delicate features twist. “They claimed to come for …  _research_. But we believe they may have ulterior motives.”

Keith frowns. “Like what exactly?”

“We believe they’ve developed and released several viruses onto the population, including the plague you called  _‘The Black Death’_.”

“What?” Hunk eyes widen. “Why?”

Allura's expression hardens. “They hope to wipe out humanity in order to claim the planet for their own and strip it of its resources. However, they underestimated human resilience,” she says with cold efficiency, pausing as the group’s faces contort in horror. “We think they are currently using the caves as a base of operation and have been experimenting on kidnapped humans for decades.”

“You keep saying  _we_ ,” Shiro cautiously probes. “Who is ‘ _we’_?”

Just as Allura opens her mouth to speak, the hiss of the door opening startles the group and they turn.

“Come on now Allura, you have to eat sometime! And I baked this batch with extra lo–”

A familiar mustachioed gentleman steps through the elevator door and, upon seeing Shiro and the others, drops a tray of green goop with a clatter. 

“AH! INTRUDERS!” He cries.

“Coran!?” Shiro and Lance shout in unison.

“Stand back!” He yells, waving his arms in frantic, jerky motions. “My hands are registered as lethal weapons in 3 star-systems!”

“Coran, it’s all right, we aren’t under attack,” Allura says calmly before her eyes dart to the shotgun in Keith’s hands and narrow. “I hope.”

Keith glares at her in return, gripping his gun tighter. Coran gives the group a wide birth – Keith especially – as he slides up to Allura’s side.

“How’d they get in?” Coran whispers loudly, warily eyeing the group.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Allura says, shooting a suspicious glare at Coran.

He swallows. “W-what are you implying?”

Her eyes narrow. “Did you leave main entrance unlocked again?”

“… Maybe?”

Allura lets out an aggravated sigh. “ _Coran_.”

“I kept forgetting where it was! Besides, it’s not like we needed the added security – that’s what the fence is for!”

“Shut up!” Keith snaps, drawing the shocked attention of the arguing aliens. “Tell us who you are and what you’re doing out here –  _now_!”

Allura’s eyes dart to meet Coran’s and the two share a look. The man only offers a shrug and Allura sighs in calm resignation.

“We are part of an intergalactic organization known as Voltron,” she explains. “It is our duty to ensure the peace and protection of all planets in the known universe. This includes earth.”

“You see,” Coran cuts in, “Once a species reaches a certain level of intelligence and technology, Voltron is obligated to protect them from any hostile alien races and to watch over them as they develop. When they are deemed ready, contact is made. Until then, we are not allowed to interfere with their development in any.”

“However, some groups are occasionally allowed to visit developing planets for research,” Allura adds. “This is the excuse the Galra gave for visiting earth. Once on the planet, there is often little to no control over their activities.”

Lance interjects, “Oh, so you’re like space cops on a stakeout! Cool!”

Keith however doesn’t share his excitement and he glowers at the two aliens. “If these Galra are so dangerous why haven’t you done anything?”

Allura scowls. “Because everything I told you about them is mere speculation. We have no proof!”  
  
Frowning, Keith quickly shrugs off his backpack and digs through it.

“Do you know what this it?” He asks, holding up the still glowing collar.

Allura’s eyes grow round.

“It’s ... a tracking device. Where did you get it?”

Excitement begins to glitter in her eyes as she reaches for it.

Keith’s lips press into a thin line, jaw tensing as he says, “We found it in the caves … on my dad’s  _dead body_.” 

Allura’s initial anticipation is immediately replaced by dawning horror and she freezes.

“Your …” she trails off, her sorrowful gaze falling to the floor before returning to the device in Keith’s hand.

Tentatively, she reaches for the collar again and inspects it carefully, brow creasing with thought.

“Tracking devices …” she murmurs, before pointing at Pidge’s belt, “Life sign jammers … eyewitnesses to an attack – This is just the proof we need to take down the Galra once and for all!” She exclaims, eyes bright with determination.

She hops back onto her pedestal and begins impatiently tapping at various floating, holographic symbols.

“But Allura,” Coran cuts in, placing a hand over hers, “We still need a warrant! It’ll take several days for HQ to receive it, process it, and approve it!”

Allura practically deflates at Coran’s dismal reminder.

“Days!?” Pidge snaps. “We don’t have  _days_! My family could be down in those caves! You have to do something NOW!”

“I’m sorry but we can’t, our hands are tied,” Coran says helplessly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Keith growls, knuckles blanching as his grip on the gun tightens.

“Wait,” Shiro interjects, stepping between Keith and Coran, arms held up in a placating manner. “You can’t go in … but  _we_  can.”

“I beg your pardon?” Allura says, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, technically they’re right.” Coran strokes his mustache thoughtfully.

“We can’t let them do that!” Allura argues. “It’s too dangerous!”

“We’ve fought the Galra before,” Keith says, “We can do it again!”

Allura turns and eyes the group skeptically. “And you fought how many exactly?”

“Three!” Hunk chimes in, holding his fingers up for emphasis.

 “… _Three_?” She frowns.

“Granted, they were pretty big,” Lance adds.

Allura’s shoulders rise, arms ramrod straight at her sides as her fists clench.

“You barely managed to fight off three Galra,” she retorts sharply. “How do expect to navigate caves filled with possibly  _hundreds_  of them?”

“You can’t stop us!” Keith snaps.

“Actually, we have to now,” says Coran.

Shiro turns to him, brows furrowed. “What?”

“You see, humans are only class 5 intelligent life-forms. You’re not even supposed to know we’re here,” Coran explains. “Now that you’ve seen us, we’re required to erase your memories.”

Hunk blanches. “I’m sorry,  _what_?!”

“You talk about erasing our memories like it’s a minor inconvenience,” Pidge snaps, “Not a traumatic experience!”

“It’s not traumatic if you don’t remember it,” Coran says with a flippant shrug.

Keith is nearly shaking with fury as he shouts, “You can’t do this! People’s lives are at stake!”

“Please try to understand. I’m sorry about your families – I truly am!” Allura pleads, head drooping with shame. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Bullshit!” Keith spits.  
  
“Can’t you maybe bend the rules?” Hunk offers nervously. “Just this once?”

“I’ve bent the rules too many times already, that’s why I’m here!” She clenches her fists tightly. “If I do it again, it will end my career! Then no one will be around to stop the Galra from wiping out all of humanity!”

“Well I’m not gonna stand around while you two twiddle your thumbs and wait for your stupid forms to get filled out in triplicate!” Keith snaps, storming toward the elevator.  
  
Pidge shoots a withering glare at Coran and Allura before following close behind.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Allura murmurs sadly, pressing a button on the panel beside her, “But I can’t allow you leave.”

Suddenly, several small, round drones pop out from floor and surround the group. Staggering back, Lance spreads his arms to shield Hunk as best he can while Pidge and Shiro freeze in shock.

“This isn’t necessary,” Shiro says, trying to keep his voice calm and even. “We can talk about this.”

Keith on the other hand has had enough talking and takes aim at the floating sphere guarding the elevator. A deafening shot rings out as it shatters, and the spent shell hits the floor with a satisfying plink.

Spurred by Keith’s barbarous actions, the drone circling Hunk and Lance attacks. Thinking fast, Hunk shoves Lance aside, crumpling in pain when he’s hit by a bright beam.

“No!” Lance yells, catching Hunk’s shuddering body before he hits the floor.

Cursing under his breath, Keith takes aim just as Lance succumbs to the orb’s attack as well. But before he can pull the trigger, he’s overcome with intense pain and falls to his knees, gun clattering to the ground.

“Keith!” Shiro shouts, dashing toward his friend as he spasms violently on the floor.

With their only threat eliminated, remaining drones turn their attention to Pidge who scrambles for the elevator. The spheres swoop down like birds of prey, hitting Pidge with a volley of shots just as they reach the door.

While Pidge crumples to the floor, the spheres turn their attention the Shiro as he cradles Keith’s limp body. Even with the futility of resistance displayed in the lifeless forms of his friends, Shiro still feels righteous fury bubbling in his veins. With a snarl, he reaches for the magnum and aims for Allura. However, her pained expression makes him hesitate and his muscles suddenly seize up. Keith’s unnervingly placid face greets him when he collapses to the ground and begins to shudder uncontrollably.

In the background, he can hear the faint humming of the drones, swirling around him like vultures, taunting him.

He also hears a voice, soft and somber.

“I’m so sorry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this I kept thinking 'I remember when this was about a retired air-force pilot with PTSD and an orphan boy healing from their past traumas and learning to love and trust again ... wild' 
> 
> I hope no one's too disappointed. ( ´ д ` ) 
> 
> I really did like all the theories ya'll came up with. I kept thinking 'oh how would that work?' and then sorta rearranging the plot in my head. It was lots of fun! ( ´ ◡ ` )
> 
> If there are any mysteries that didn't get answered, feel free to ask! Some things I couldn't explain because it wasn't observed by either Keith or Shiro (or because I just plain forgot). But I always like to talk about my work (as conceited as that sounds) so don't be shy!


	39. Day 80

When Shiro wakes it’s to a pounding beneath his skull and a buzzing under his skin. He smacks dry lips and kicks away the sheets tangled around his legs. With a low groan he swings heavy legs over the side of his bed, standing up quickly enough for his head throb in protest.

Leaning against the wall for support, he grimaces and looks around his … cell.

His stomach drops.

A few yards opposite of his bunk appears to be some kind of force-field. It’s transparent, save for the faint bluish glow it emits.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead as he begins to piece together the events that preceded his capture. His eyes shoot open.

“Keith … KEITH!”

Shiro scrambles to the barrier, flinching before he can see just how forceful it is. He peers into the cells around him as best he can. Unfortunately, he can only see the bunk of the cell directly across from his and a little bit of those next to it.

As he tries to make out the dark form curled on the bed opposite his own cell, he softly calls out, “Keith?”

The cell’s occupant stirs, and Shiro sighs in relief when Keith sits up with a moan.

“Keith ...”

As soon as he hears Shiro’s voice, Keith’s head snaps in his direction. Keith launches off the bed with a shout of "Shiro!" and rushes toward his boyfriend.

However, his joy is short lived as he collides with the force-field before Shiro can warn him. Shiro grimaces in sympathy when Keith jerks away and clutches his body as it’s wracked with pain.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Keith hisses before turning to Shiro, eyes wide. “What about you?”

“Headache,” he smiles wearily, touched by Keith’s concern, “Nothing I can’t handle. Can you see the others?”

Cautiously, Keith approaches the force-field and scans the cells around them.  
  
“I think I see … Hunk!”  
  
A low groan emanates from the cell to Shiro’s left and he calls out, “Hunk? Are you okay?”  
  
“ _Oooooooohhhhhhh_ I feel like I just stuck a fork in a toaster.”

“Electrically speaking we _did_ ,” Pidge’s dry voice croaks out from the cell to Shiro’s right.

“Pidge!”

“UhhhWuhappn?” Lance slurs, staggering around the cell to the left of Keith’s.

Shiro sighs, relieved that all are present and accounted for. His eyes dart back to Keith, widening as they scan his face.

“Your bruise, it’s gone!”

Keith’s fingers fly up to his cheek before sliding down his torso, across a black bodysuit identical to the ones worn by Shiro and the others.

“What the …”

Frowning, Keith tugs at the light, yet durable fabric encasing his body from the tips of his fingers to his toes, stopping at top of his throat.

“I feel so violated,” Hunk shudders.

Suddenly, Lance gasps and rushes to the force-field. “Hunk! Do you remember me?”

“Yeah! Do you remember me?”

“I think so! Keith! Do you remember me?”

“Unfortunately,” Keith responds dryly.

“Shiro! Do –”

“ _YES,_ LANCE we all remember each other,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I wonder why they haven’t erased our memories yet,” Pidge frowns.

“Probably too busy filling out their _‘Primitive Species Mind Erasure forms’_ ,” Keith huffs and leans against the cell wall, jerkily folding his arms across his chest.

“… I actually hate how plausible that sounds,” Pidge grimaces.

The dull thud of Keith's fist slamming against metal echoes through the empty hall.

“Dammit they’re getting away with murder!” He snaps, seizing the attention of the others. “If they erase our memories, the Galra will just keep killing people - there’ll be no one to stop them!”

“I’ll forget about what happened to my brother and father …” Pidge adds, their voice growing faint with dawning dread, “No one will know where they are …”

They pull their knees to their chest, curling inward as tears threaten to spill down freckled cheeks.

“It’s not just that,” Lance says, practically wilting as he leans against wall and slides down. “All of this summer, our adventures, our … _relationships_ … we’ll forget it all.”

Keith head snaps toward Shiro who wears a similar expression of horror. The thought of forgetting Keith is too heartbreaking to imagine, but here it is, a very real threat. Looming over them like an impending storm, threatening to tear them all apart. ~~~~

The subtle hiss of an opening door diverts Shiro’s attention from his dismal thoughts. Keith jumps to his feet, followed by Shiro and the others. His body is taut like a wire, fists raised. The only way they’re getting his memories is to drag him kicking and screaming.

However, the steadily approaching figure is not that of Allura or Coran, but of a tall bipedal robot pushing a trolley containing a small stack of rectangular containers. It comes to a stop in front of Keith’s cell and he shoots it an ineffective glare. Wordlessly, it passes him a covered tray through the barrier which parts around it like a waterfall. Scowling, Keith smacks the bottom of the container, sending it and its contents – a disgustingly neon green goo – flying.  
  
“NOOOOOO!!!!” Hunk cries out in horror while Lance cheers Keith on.

Undaunted by Keith’s little outburst, the robot moves on to Pidge, who observes it keenly. Once the robot finishes its deliveries and leaves, Pidge scoops a handful of the _‘food’_ and throws it against the force-field. The barrier crackles with energy as the goop is forcefully repelled.

“Huh … that’s interesting.”

“What is? Wasting food?” Hunk mutters, glaring at Pidge’s wanton display of meal desecration.

Ignoring Hunk’s ire, Pidge continues, “It looks like the force-field only prevents organic material from exiting. See?” Pidge says as they remove their glasses, which easily pass through the barrier.

“But these suits aren’t organic,” Lance argues. “They’re not alive or edible.”

“Organic just means it was _made_ from something alive," Pidge explains, “For example, cotton comes from a cotton plant and wool comes from sheep whereas synthetic fabrics like polyester are basically made of plastic. Whatever these are made of,” they tug on their suit for emphasis, “must be made of some kind of organic material.”

Shiro’s eyes slowly widen. “Wait … plastic?”

He begins to hastily wrestle with his suit, tugging at it until it parts down the middle. Keith arches a thick eyebrow, moving away from the wall he was slumped against to watch. Grimacing, Shiro peels the constricting fabric back like a snake shedding its skin. Eventually, his right arm and prosthetic are freed.

Lance cocks his head in confusion. “What’s he doing?”

Keith doesn’t answer, just grins.

“What? What’s he doing? I can’t see.” Hunk complains, leaning as close to the barrier as he dares.

After removing his prosthetic with practiced grace, Shiro holds the limb in front of him, eyes flicking up to meet Keith’s.

“Well …” he licks his lips nervously, “Let’s hope this works.”

“Hope what works? I still can’t see!”

Tentatively, Shiro slides the prosthetic through the barrier and sighs in relief as it passes, providing a two-foot opening underneath it.  
  
“WOO-HOO!” Lance whoops excitedly before the others hastily shush him.

“Oops! I mean _whoo-hoo_!” He stage-whispers. ~~~~

After performing the word’s strangest limbo, Shiro replicates the procedure for the others. ~~~~

While Shiro reattaches his prosthetic, Lance says, “Great, we’re out … now what?”

“We have to find that armory,” Keith says as he helps Shiro back into his suit.

“Wait, why do we need to go there?” Hunk frowns.

“Yeah,” Lance adds, “I thought the plan was to escape?”

“C’mon! We can’t just run away! Don’t you want to do something?" Pidge says.

“Of course I do!” Lance huffs. “But isn’t this something that should be handled by the military, or the U.N., or Mulder and Scully?

“There’s no time for that!” Keith bristles. “Besides, do you really think anyone is gonna believe us?”

Shiro’s hand is on his shoulder in an instant, a calming, steadying presence.

“No, they’re right Keith. If anyone wants to leave, they're free to do so.”

“I’m staying,” Pidge says firmly, folding their arms across their chest.

“Same,” Keith adds, looking up at Shiro with hopeful expression.

Shiro smiles and gives Keith’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Me too.”

With that, they turn expectantly to Lance and Hunk. The duo eye each other apprehensively and Lance shrugs.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I wished for an exciting summer adventure … but it’ll do. Count me in!”

He flashes them a toothy grin and turns to Hunk.  
  
“… Fine,” he sighs in defeat. “Let’s save the world or whatever.”

The rest of the team breaks into wide smiles and Lance says, “I think we should have a cheer or something!”

“No,” the others unanimously mutter.

Luckily, Pidge still remembers the layout of the ship from the hologram – _‘Ah, **Cells** , not dorms,’_ they belatedly realize – and the fledgling team make their way down the hall, tentatively poking their heads out of the cell block as they look around.

Like the rest of the ship, it appears to be empty. Not even a robotic sentry or murderous orb haunts the blindingly white halls.

“You’d think a super advanced alien Police Station would have tighter security,” Lance muses as they navigate through the ship.

“They probably think humans are too _primitive_ to worry about,” Keith scoffs.

Despite their misgivings, the vacant hallways are a blessing the group accepts with cautious gratitude, and they manage to reach the elevator - and subsequently the armory - without incident. To the surprise of no one, the armory entrance is locked, and no amount of arm waving seems to open it.

“We’re just gonna have to break in,” Shiro says, turning expectantly to Pidge who is already staring keenly at a plate next to the door.  
  
“This looks like an access panel. But I’ll have to find a way to pop it open fir–”

Before the request can escape Pidge’s lips, Hunk’s shoulder slams into the panel which crumples under his substantial weight. The other men’s jaws go slack, and Pidge’s glasses slide to the end of their nose.

“... That’ll work.”

They pop the bent panel off the wall and peer inside. Eyes glittering with wonder, Pidge carefully removes what looks like a glass circuit-board etched with thin lines and blinking lights of varying colors. 

“OH! It’s powered by light!” They exclaim excitedly. “That makes sense, they’re an advanced alien race after all, and light can be transmitted over long distances more efficiently than electricity and in some ways, it’s is safer – ”

“You call _that_ safe?” Lance gripes, as a smoky vapor wafts from inside the chamber.

Ignoring him, Pidge removes their glasses and pops out one of the lenses. They slide it in the path of a beam at a shallow angle before gradually turning it till the beam hits a tiny window inside the compartment.

There’s a low _cha-chunk_ and Pidge says, “Ok, it’s unlocked, but someone’s gotta force it open.”

The group turns to Hunk whose shoulder rise and fall in a melodramatic sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he mutters, grabbing hold of the one of the door’s decorative ridges.

His muscles bulge beneath the tight fabric of his suit as the door slowly slides open, creating a two-foot gap.

“Swoon!” Lance sighs dreamily as he leans on a rather bashful Hunk.

Pidge rolls their eyes and follows Keith as he pushes brusquely past the couple.

The room, while not as large as the others, is still rather substantial, with awide selection of armor in varying sizes and colors displayed in well-lit cases that line the curving wall.

“I pick blue!” Lance gleefully shouts, running up to the azure armor.

The five easily slide the various pieces over their suits, blissfully unaware that their absence has been noticed.

 

\--------------------

 

“Um … Allura? We have a problem,” Coran says, eyeing his superior nervously.

“What kind of problem?” Allura sighs, her gaze never straying from the monotonous forms projected on the screen in front of her.

“It’s our ...  _guests_ … they’re gone.”

Allura spins around, eyes wide. “What?!”

“I went to check on them - to make sure they were comfortable - and they weren’t in their rooms,” Coran fretfully explains.

With a flick of her wrist, Allura sends the forms away and pulls up several screens. Her brows furrow at the sight of the empty cells and she quickly pulls up the footage of the other sections of the ship, including the armory.

Her eyes narrow dangerously.

 

\--------------------

 

“This is great and all, but where are the weapons?” Keith says, looking around at the smooth, seamless walls with a frown.

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than a counter emerges from the floor with a hiss. On top of it, all in a row, are several weapons of various types, all with sleek designs that suit their surroundings.

“Oooh color coordinated! There is intelligent life after all,” Lance hums appreciatively, picking up a blue rifle.

Keith and Shiro chose guns as well while Hunk declines, waving his hands in a flurry. Pidge on the other hand grabs a green, katar-like weapon and waves it around, probably hoping for something spectacular to happen.

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” Lance teases, earning a glare from Pidge.

Scowling, they walk away from Lance and the others, determined to uncover the mysteries of the strange weapon. They squeeze the handle, jumping in surprise when the blade shoots skyward, bouncing off the high ceiling before colliding with Lance’s head.

While Hunk and Pidge snigger at Lance’s discomfort, Keith frowns and Shiro says, “Guys, stay focused. We don’t know how long we have before –”

He’s cut off by the sound of approaching feet, rumbling like thunder. The door opens fully, and five robots enter the room, two in the front, three in the back. They look exactly like the one from earlier. However, these are armed with blasters instead of the dubious meals provided by their counterpart.

As the robots open fire, Lance, the closest, instinctively throws his hands up, blocking the blasts when a shield projects from his forearm. He doesn’t really have a chance to appreciate the technology as Hunk grabs his collar, yanking him over the counter to join him, Shiro, and Keith.

Thinking fast, Pidge drops to one knee and shoots the grappling hook into the wall opposite them, causing two of the advancing robots to fall to the ground. Undeterred, the three remaining automatons step past their fallen companions, with one turning its attention to Pidge.

Keith launches off the counter and slams his heel into the nearest robot’s head, cracking its single jewel-like eye and sending it sprawling. Meanwhile, Shiro raises his rifle and quickly shoots the android lunging for Pidge.

Keith lands with cat-like grace, whipping his head just in time to see the gun aimed right at him. Before Keith can even raise his weapon or shield, a blur of yellow flashes before his eyes as Hunk body-slams the robot into the floor. While Keith and Hunk share a triumphant grin, Lance yells, “Duck!” before he and Shiro shoot the two automatons regaining their footing.

As the robots spark and shudder, Shiro vaults over the counter and shouts, “Let’s go!”

They don’t need to be told twice and tear out of the room, only to be met with several more guards blocking the entrance, weapons drawn. Shiro throws up his shield along with the others and shoots a meaningful look to his companions. They catch on quickly and join their shields together. With a deafening yell they charge forward, slamming bodily into the wall of guards. The robots are momentarily forced back, but quickly regain their footing and push back. The group all grit their teeth as they slowly slide backwards, boots squeaking against the polished floor.

If only they had just a little more thrust.

As if on cue, the five are suddenly launched forward by small jet-packs attached to their backs. With the added momentum, the robots topple over like bowling pins and the gang race out the door to freedom, leaving their captors to watch in gob-smacked silence.

“They escaped,” Coran says, equal parts shocked and impressed. “Should I send another squad after them?”

“No.”

Allura’s firm tone gives the man pause and he turns to his superior, surprised by her pleased expression.

“Allura?”

With slight smile gracing her lips, she says, “If they can outsmart, hack, and fight their way out of my ship, they have a chance against the Galra.”

She turns to Coran, features hardening with determination.

“Now, we must do our part,” she says, returning to her platform.

“Are you sure about this?” Coran asks, concerned but not defiant.

“No … I’m not,” she admits softly before her eyes narrow. “But I will _not_ let the Galra get away again.”

 

\--------------------

 

“WHOO HOO!” Lance crows, easily clearing the fence in a single jump.

Hunk however, doesn’t share his enthusiasm, nervously shooting backward glances as they run and leap down the path.

“Do you think they’re following us?” He breathlessly shouts.

“Let not wait and find out,” Shiro says, grunting when his jet-pack sputters, forcing him land.

Unfortunately, the packs only work for short bursts - about ten seconds in Shiro’s case - before requiring a cooldown period. Still, they make the trek faster, and it’s not long before the group reach the cave opening discovered by Keith and Lance. 

While Lance, Pidge and Hunk carefully descend, Shiro stands at the precipice, staring down into the unknown. His heartbeat starts to crescendo, pulsing in his ears. But before the sensation can overwhelm him, a familiar hand rests on his tense shoulder and squeezes.

When Shiro turns, his eyes meet Keith’s, soft and sympathetic. But lurking beneath the kaleidoscope of amethyst and ruby is fear, and Shiro’s reminded that he’s not the only one who’s scared.

There’s so much at stake. So much riding on their five shoulders.

They’re too young.

They’re too inexperienced.

And they’re going to save the world, goddammit.

Tearing his gaze away, Shiro reaches Keith’s hand, twining the fingers together as they face the gaping maw. After Shiro sucks in a deep, calming breath, they both hop down to join the others. As they descend, Keith’s attention strays to the pile of rocks at the base of the climb. The ring glints in the darkness. A beacon. A reminder.

No one else will lose their life to these monsters. Not while he’s around.

With all present and accounted for, the team stare down the tunnel before them where rocky protrusions give the impression of the jaws of a foul beast, hungry for blood. They proceed with caution, warily peering down each diverting path, only to find them surprisingly empty. They’re beginning to wonder if Allura’s comment about there being _‘hundreds’_ of Galra might have been an exaggeration when a group of three stomps through the halls. The gang duck into a nearby passage as the footsteps draw closer and they pray that the Galra don’t turn their way.

The sentries pass by blissfully unaware, stopping at a large door opposite of the five intruders. The door slowly parts down the middle with a soft hiss, allowing the three to enter. As the door gradually closes, Keith darts inside, much to the dismay and choked off objections of his companions.

Luckily, the aliens are too preoccupied to notice him as they huddle around a terminal in the center of the room. One of them, the tallest, taps away at a screen projected on it. With the Galra distracted, the rest of the team reluctantly follow, joining Keith behind a row of suits. Their sudden intrusion makes the door freeze in position before slowly closing again. One of the Galra turns toward the door, regarding it with a frown. Luckily, a tap on the shoulder by their teammate distracts them from whatever hypothesis they might have been formulating.

As the first Galra steps away from the terminal, a recess in the wall opens with a _clunk_ , the inside lighting up in a vibrant mauve hue. They remove their armor like an overworked mother, tossing it haphazardly into the alcove.

“Have a little pride,” the second Galra growls in perfect English, much to the shock of Shiro and the others.

The tallest just waves them off, walking to a door that leads to an adjacent room. Frowning, the second Galra finishes with the screen and deposits their armor in their own alcove, albeit with more care. Meanwhile, the third Galra quickly taps at the projection and hastily removes their armor, eager to join their companions.

Once the room is clear, Pidge darts over to terminal and starts poking around.

“Wow, all those sci-fi movies were right, English really _is_ the intergalactic language!” Lance says with awe.

“I think it’s more likely that our helmets are translating what we see and hear,” Pidge says dryly as they pull up a map of the complex.

“This place looks like a goddamn ant farm,” Keith grumbles, “Where do we even begin?”

“It looks like we’re in a sort of locker-room,” Pidge says, indicating at the map, “Over here is where they keep the _‘test subjects’_ ,” they say with blatant disdain, “And … this could be where they keep the virus.”

“Good work Pidge,” Shiro says.

“Now we just need to come up with a plan,” Keith adds.

“Yeah, what _is_ the plan Shiro?” Lance asks, turning the older man expectantly.

Shiro arches an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’re our leader. _Duh_ ,” Lance says easily.

“I don’t remember accepting the position.”

“Now, now, let’s be democratic about this,” Hunk says, “We’ll put it to a vote.”

“Hold on don’t I have a –”

“All those in favor of Shiro as leader say aye,” Hunk continues, ignoring Shiro’s objections. “Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye.”

“The ayes have it!” Lance beams. “You’re officially our leader now!”

Shiro’s widening eyes dart from one expectant face to the next, stomach sinking. He tears his gaze away. They’re too young. Too young.

“I … I can’t do it.”

“What?” Hunk pouts.

“Why?” Pidge frowns.

“I-I just can’t.”

Shiro’s eyes squeeze shut, guilt settling over him like a lead weight, dragging him down. A warm, familiar hand grips his shoulder tightly, pulling him from the mire that is his own mind. Yet he doesn’t look up. Can’t look up.

That same hand moves to cup his cheek, tilting his head up. A thumb drags across his skin, coaxing his eyes to open, to see the fond expression on Keith’s face.

“You’re not doing this alone ... remember?” He says, firm yet reassuring, sincerity dripping from every word. Shiro’s heart clenches.

“And can I just say that if I had to be led into a cave teeming with hostile aliens hell-bent on wiping out humanity – I’d want to be led by you,” Hunk chimes in with Lance and Pidge nodding in agreement.

As Shiro’s gaze drifts across their bright faces, he clears his throat in an attempt to dislodge the lump stuck there. After regaining his composure, Shiro’s features harden as he turns to the screen, eyes darting across the complex displayed in front of him.

 “Ok … we don’t know how many people they’ve got down here. Hunk, Lance and Pidge, I think you should look for any prisoners. If they need to be carried out, Hunk is our best option in that regard, also, they’ll need the most cover fire if things go south – that’s where Lance and Pidge come in.”

He pushes away from the terminal, turning to Keith.

“You and I will look for where the virus is kept. Maybe we can find a way to safely destroy it.”

Keith gives him a stiff nod. Shiro turns to the other three, eyes flicking from one young face to the next. He takes a deep breath.

“Good luck,” he says, far softer then he had intended.

The trio all nod in response before turning down the tunnel with steely-eyed determination. Once they’re out of sight, Keith and Shiro stare down their own path with equal solemnity.

“You sure you don’t want to take your vote back?” Shiro asks, his teasing tone belying the anxiety he feels.

The corner of Keith’s mouth lifts. “Not a chance.”

After sucking in a steadying breath, Shiro leads the way down the labyrinthine network of tunnels. The walls grow smooth and polished the deeper they go, to the point they no longer resemble rock at all. They’re almost to their target when Lance’s voice crackles from inside their helmets.

“Uh guys, we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Shiro whispers.

“We found the Holts,” Lance continues, “But they’re in pretty bad shape. We think they’re infected.”

_Shit._

“What do we do?” Hunk asks anxiously.  
  
“Shh!” Pidge hisses. “He’s trying to say something!”

There’s a soft rustling of fabric, followed by ragged pants and a young man’s voice – _Matt_ – Shiro’s brain helpfully supplies.

“One time, when they were working on us, I struggled and one of them was pricked with the needle,” Matt says, soft and raspy. “I saw them inject themselves with a purple solution. It must be an antidote or something.”

Shiro’s brows knit together and his eyes meet Keith’s.

“Ok, new plan: Keith and I look for this vaccine while you three take the Holts to Allura and Coran.”

“What?” Keith hisses, no doubt displeased at the thought of trusting the aliens.

“They’re the only ones who can help the Holts,” Shiro says, noting Keith’s indignant expression. “They’re not evil Keith,” he continues softly, recalling Allura’s forlorn expression.

Keith’s scowl deepens, and he lets out a disgruntled huff. “Whatever. Let’s just find this antidote and get out.”

They navigate the halls in tense silence, following Pidge’s directions with only the occasional detour to avoid random patrols.

“I think this is it,” Keith says, observing what appears to be a hand scanning device.

“The only question is, how do we get in?” Shiro frowns.

Suddenly, Keith raises a finger to his lips, eyes widening when heavy footfalls echo off the walls, growing louder with each step.

They duck into one of the empty passages a few feet away, hearts lodged in their throats as the sound grows nearer before stopping entirely. Cautiously, Keith peeks around the wall as a slim Galra, who is wearing something uncannily similar to a plague-doctor mask, presses their palm to the pad. The door slowly opens with a hiss. While the Galra enters Keith dashes forward. Shiro chokes on the other man’s name as he follows and the pair slip through the door just before it closes.

Once inside, Shiro freezes at the sight of four towering glass pillars, each filled with a bubbling golden liquid. A sharp yank at his elbow nearly sends him sprawling as Keith pulls him behind a cart laden with tall metal tanks. Safely hidden, the pair watch as the Galra retrieves a syringe and several empty vials from a case embedded in the wall. The Galra then inserts the needle into a cylindrical adapter near the base of one of the pillars. After filling the vials, the Galra leaves the room, and Keith and Shiro cautiously emerge from their hiding spot.

A tap to Shiro’s shoulder draws his attention back to Keith who points toward a tank filled with a purple liquid. Repeating the process the Galra used, they fill as many vials as can fit into the pouches on their belts.

“I hope this’ll be enough,” Shiro says.

Keith nods solemnly before turning toward the other pillars. “How do we destroy the virus without releasing it?”

Frowning, Shiro’s gaze drops to the vial in his hand. His fingers curl around it tighter. He steps up to one of the bubbling pillars and inserts the needle into the adaptor, injecting the purple concoction into the tank. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith doing the same to the other tanks.

Once finished with their sabotage, the pair step away from the vats. The purple liquid floats lazily through the golden fluid like dye in water. Shiro begins to wonder if his idea was a bust when the tank’s contents suddenly turn clear.

“Do you think that worked?” Keith asks.

“I hope so.”

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than an alarm goes off, blaring painfully in their ears. As he and Keith tear out of the room, Lance’s rattled voice shouts, “What happened – What’s going on?!”

“We added some antidote to the virus. I think we triggered an alarm,” Shiro says.

“Do you need backup?”

“Negative! Get out of here!” Shiro orders, ducking down one of the many passages in a desperate attempt to retrace their steps, only to be forced down unknown corridors at the echoes of heavy footfalls.

“New plan! We’re heading to the hanger!”

As they race down the hallway, the thunderous pounding of feet is joined by the sound of blasters. Light and heat flash around the pair and they throw up their shields, slowing to a crawl as they return fire. Shiro’s eyes dart down the final stretch, at the end of which salvation closes before his widening eyes.

“Keith! The door!”

“Go! I’ll cover you!” Keith shouts, unleashing a flurry of fire upon their enemies.

Shiro sprints ahead and braces himself against the door. Clenching his jaw, Shiro plants his feet firmly against the polished floor and pushes back. His jetpack fires up and the door slows.

_1 …_

Meanwhile, Keith shoots in an erratic spray, hitting the walls as much as he is the Galra. It does its job though, and keeps the hostile aliens at bay – barely.

_2 … 3 …_

With each passing second, the gap between the door grows narrower and narrower. Shiro grinds his teeth, sweat dotting his brow as his muscles bulge and strain.

_4 … 5 …_

“Keith! Hurry!”

Keith’s head snaps toward Shiro, eyes widening. In a split-second decision, Keith  lowers his shield and dashes for the narrow opening. The Galra seize the opportunity to give chase, barreling down the hall after him. Thinking quickly, Keith drops to his side, sliding the final few feet between Shiro’s legs through the door.

Before Shiro even has a chance to feel relieved, the jets give out.

There’s a sickening crunch, followed by a searing pain that shoots up Shiro’s right arm. Pain so excruciating that he’s momentarily blinded by it.

Keith cries out Shiro’s name, but it’s inaudible compared to the scream that’s ripped from Shiro's throat. Instinctively, Shiro jerks away from the door, slamming his left palm against the polished metal. His suit tears like mock skin and flesh as he staggers backwards.

Before he can fall, he’s caught by Keith who hastily shoots the access panel on the wall. While sparks spit from the wall, Shiro grits his teeth, clutching what’s left of his arm.

Something warm and sticky oozes between his trembling fingers, and he opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing, only to be met with Keith’s horrified expression. He only catches a glimpse of what has Keith so shaken before looking away with a grimace. Mercifully, the stretchy fabric of his prison uniform covers the majority of the carnage, but little he does see is enough to send his stomach churning.

Fighting the urge to vomit, Shiro allows Keith to drag him across the hanger when his legs lose their strength. He stares blankly at the long streaks of red following them.

With great care, Keith lowers Shiro to the ground, and props him against the far wall. Once Shiro is settled, Keith looks around, desperate for something - _anything_ to buy them time.

There are about fifty ships of varying sizes, some smaller two person fighters, but mostly larger vessels presumably for transportation. They all face the enormous wall to Keith's left - the hanger door. There are also several large dollies scattered about the vast room, laden with canisters that he hopes contain fuel of some kind.

With a grunt, Keith pushes the containers in front of the door. They fall with a resounding clatter that echos through the hanger, drowning out the Galra's furious pounding.

When Keith returns to Shiro's side, he drops to his knees, wrapping trembling hands around Shiro’s bleeding stump and squeezing tightly. Despite the pain, a strange lightheadedness comes over Shiro in waves, leaving him dazed.

“Too bad my first alien hunt had to end like this,” he chuckles weakly.

He sucks in a deep, shuddery breath. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“I’ll make it up it up to you,” Keith retorts, lacking his companion’s hollow mirth, “Just stay with me.”

A vitriolic part of Shiro’s brain wonders if this is simply the universe’s way of punishing him for surviving all those years ago. He lost four good men that day. Now he’s losing four more. There’s no way that’s a coincidence, right?

His head lolls to the side to where Keith is sitting next to him, squeezing his arm in a vicelike grip. Keith’s skin looks pale, absent of its natural warm tones, and his normally bright eyes are wide with fear.

Is the universe really so cruel that it would destroy someone as beautiful and kind as Keith just to spite Shiro?

It certainly seems that way.

Shiro swallows thickly, his tongue nothing better than a dead-weight in his mouth.

“Keith … if I don’t make it –”

“Shut up … Just shut UP!” Keith snaps, eyes burning with tears he refuses to shed.

“Keith …”

“Stop.”

“I love you.”

“… Shiro …”

Tears streak down Keith’s face as he leans in for a final kiss.

It’s nothing like in the movies.

It’s not a hasty display of passion and desperation. It’s painful. Somber.

The visors of their helmets knock together as their mouths meet. Keith’s lips are twisted, holding back a sob while Shiro can barely muster the strength to cup his cheek. Trembling fingers graze Keith’s jaw, growing wet with tears.

It’s not sexy. It tastes like salt and blood and a thousand unspoken apologies. A thousand broken promises.

A particularly loud bang startles them apart and Shiro catches sight of Keith’s face. Tear trails stain his cheeks, features contorting with fury and pain as he stares at the door. Fortunately, Shiro still is still cognizant enough to raise his shield. As it flickers to life, Keith presses closer, blaster aimed at the pile of tanks in front of the door.

The movies lied about this too - lovers staring down death in honorable suicide.

It’s supposed to feel romantic 

It doesn’t.

It feels cruel.

Cruel of the universe to tear them apart so soon after finding each other, so soon after finding themselves. There’s so much left they want to do. Together.

The Galra burst through with a triumphant roar, unaware of the danger that lies before them. But before Keith can shoot, the hanger door explodes, sending rock and debris flying through the air. Instinctively, Keith throws himself in front of Shiro, though the shield protects them from the worst of the blast.

Amber light filters through the cloud of ash and dust that billows through the hanger. Keith lifts his head, eyes widening when several police robots emerge from the haze, headed by four familiar faces.

“This is Voltron, you are under arrest for the violation of the Planetary Protection Act! Throw down you weapons!” Allura shouts.

She stands tall and proud amid the carnage, flanked on either side by Pidge, Lance and Hunk, who rush to their friends’ aid.

A breathy laugh fans across Shiro’s cheek as Keith leans in, knocking their helmets together. With a weary smile tugging at his lips, Shiro’s eyes flutter shut and he slumps against Keith, melting into his strong, capable arms.


	40. Endings and Beginnings

The tips of towering trees sway in the evening breeze, caressing the darkening sky. Swathes of rose and gold bleed into a blanket of indigo where stars twinkle like jewels. Shiro stares up at the variegated firmament, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff. Behind him, he hears the steady pace of a familiar footfall.

How well do you have to know someone to recognize their steps? How deeply rooted does someone have to be in your life to for you to notice a faltering pace? Slowing. Hesitating. Stopping.

Shiro smiles knowingly, fond and wide.

"Keith …"

With Shiro’s acknowledgement, Keith advances the final few feet, dropping down beside him with a grunt.

“Broke out?” He asks as he swings his legs over the edge. Their knees and ankles knock together at the jerky movement.

Shiro smiles and nods. “Not that I’m not grateful, but those healing pods or whatever they are give me a serious case of claustrophobia.”

Keith hums in agreement, eyes drifting to the metal arm Shiro is cradling in his lap. Shiro rubs at the knuckles of his new prosthetic, fingers dragging across the alien material.

He’d emerged from the tiny pod with the modified limb a day or two ago, collapsing into Keith’s open arms. After Shiro had gotten his bearings, Coran quickly explained in a roundabout way how it’s common procedure in their culture to attach cybernetic prothesis while injuries are still fresh, and how the idea of not doing it seemed absolutely barbaric. Although, Shiro has a sneaking suspicion that it was more out of fondness for him than any sense of scientific superiority.

Shiro lifts his forearm up and down in slow, smooth increments. The faint humming and clicking of machinery emanates from inside the polished metal, barely audible over the whispering wind.

He rolls his wrist in fluid motion, pressing each individual finger to the center of his palm before clenching them into a fist.  The alien material creaks faintly from the pressure. Without hesitation, Keith reaches out, gently stroking the polished metal. A gasp catches Shiro’s throat when Keith brushes his palm, the muted warmth of his fingers bleeding into synthetic skin.

Keith eyes dart up to meet Shiro’s, widening as he whispers, “You can feel that?”

Shiro nods, an awed smile tugging at his lips. Keith’s gaze drops back to the limb, wearing a similarly pleased expression. His fingers caress the inside of Shiro’s wrist, tracing abstract shapes before sliding higher.

"We'll have to give it a rigorous testing,” Keith says suggestively, pressing his palm flat to Shiro's, noting the drastic difference in size.

His fingers slip between Shiro’s, clasping their hands together. Leaning forward, he presses gentle kisses to each metallic knuckle.

Shiro untangles their fingers to cup Keith’s cheek. The heat is muted against his palm. But it’s there. And it spreads across the synthetic material. As Shiro caresses warm, soft skin, Keith leans into touch, a fond smile on his lips. His features are softened by the setting sun which casts a rosy glow over the pastoral landscape surrounding them.

Before he knows it, Shiro’s lips are on his and Keith melts. Keith’s hands move to Shiro’s neck, stroking the soft, sensitive skin behind his ears, scratching the short hairs around his nape. Shiro sighs approvingly as their mouths move in tandem, slow and tender.

It feels like coming home. Relief and warmth. Comfortable. Easy.

A distant wolf whistle makes them part, turning just enough to see Lance emerging from the ship with Pidge, Hunk, and Allura in tow.

While Pidge and Hunk scold Lance, Shiro chuckles and Keith huffs in annoyance, though there’s an amused quirk to his lips. The four soon join the lovebirds – as Lance calls them – and Shiro inquires after the Holts.

“Coran is giving them a final check-up, but I’m sure they’ll be monster hunting again in no time,” Pidge informs them.

“And what about your other _guests_ ,” Keith says coolly, turning to Allura. “What’ll happen to them?”

“Thanks to you they won’t hurt anyone ever again,” she says proudly. “We have more than enough evidence, and with any luck, they’ll be faced with life imprisonment.”

Her answer seems to satisfy Keith, and they others are equally pleased, albeit a bit more enthusiastic.

“As for all of you …” Allura begins, voice growing severe as her arms cross over her chest. “Your actions are a direct violation of over 15 criminal codes including the destruction and theft of federation property.”

When the five share nervous glances Allura’s stern expression melts into a mischievous smile.

“Luckily for you, you’re not beholden federation laws.”

The group lets out a collective sigh of relief, and Allura’s teasing smirk softens.

“Thank you. Without your help millions could have perished. Earth is in your debt.”

Her words have sobering effect on Shiro, Pidge, Lance and Hunk, and they share a look of awed realization. Keith on the other hand seems unmoved, and his eyes narrow.

“Not like we’ll remember that after you erase our memories,” Keith says resentfully and the others' faces fall, contorting with dread.

“About that …” Allura says, “Due to your bravery and ingenuity I have managed convinced my superiors to make you Earth’s liaisons for Voltron, complete with all the responsibilities that entails.”

“What sort of responsibilities?” Keith asks, suddenly invested in the conversation.

Allura shrugs. "It will mostly involve reporting any suspicious, possibly extraterrestrial activity - basically, you’ll be keeping an eye on things once Coran and I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” Hunk says sadly.

Allura nods, a soft, melancholy smile gracing her lips.

“Where are you going?” Pidge asks.

“Headquarters. We have to process the prisoners, prepare them for trial –”

“Fill out forms,” Lance adds.

Allura’s smile wanes, growing suddenly weary. “Yes … lots of that …”

A peal of laugher ripples through the group just as Coran emerges from the ship, Holts in tow. At the sight of their family, Pidge rushes toward them, nearly knocking Matt over with a hug.

“I thought I might find you out here,” Coran says cheerfully as he joins the group. “I wanted to scan Shiro one last time for good measure ...” He shoots Shiro a perturbed look, “But I suppose it’s not necessary. The ship will be ready for take of in precisely one hour.”

“So soon?” Pidge says, wilting.

Hunk and Lance’s postures droop as well and Shiro’s own features fall.

“We’ll see each other again,” Allura says fondly. “Primitive planets such as this are hotspots for illegal alien activity.”

Keith straightens at that and turns to Shiro with an eager gleam in his eye. While the others talk among themselves, he leans toward Shiro who mirrors the movement.

“Sounds exciting,” Keith says, voice low and conspiratorial.

“It certainly does,” Shiro agrees, mouth curving into a wry smile.

“And dangerous.”

“Very.”

Keith's surreptitious smirk widens into a grin. “What do you say? Want to hunt down alien criminals hell-bent on world domination with me?”

Shiro chuckles, breath ghosting across Keith’s lips as he leans in, whispering, “When you put it like that … how can I refuse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say something profound since this was my first foray into writing ... 
> 
> wowzers
> 
> Yeah, I think that'll do.
> 
> Well this has been a wild ride for me. So much has happened since I first started writing this, but I'm glad I did it and pushed through all my self-doubt. WHICH I might add would have been a lot harder without the encouraging comments and kudos ya'll left for me. Thank you so so much!
> 
> I hope to write a lot more in the future! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و See you then! ❤


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